Cheery Philosopher

Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

That would be me.

Bad moods are the pits. Especially when they make no sense. Even a cheerful boyfriend serving me eggs and coffee this morning as I scowled at him from underneath a mane of bedhead could only crack my face into a smile for the short commute to work before I proceeded to brood at my desk about my purpose in life.

With my grad school application constantly on my mind for the past three months, but no time yet to actually put pen to paper, my stress level has reached that embarrassing point at which the smallest point of tension causes me to erupt into an irrational explosion of "What am I doing with my life?!"

BUT, the good news is that after only about an hour wasted by staring blankly at nothing in my little corner cubicle, I remembered this lovely blog and suddenly felt something close to inspiration and excitement. Writing has always made me feel grounded and helped me to find direction, and so as soon as I take the opportunity to put some coherent sentences out there into the world, I feel like I have a focused purpose again.

Not only that, but it cheers me up! I went from sulking about my bank account and questioning every plan I've ever made, to appreciating the little things that are worth writing – and thinking – about. Like the lunch date I have with my mom in an hour. And the work out I have scheduled for the morning. And the free Starbucks drink loaded up on my card. And the trip to Costa Rica happening in three weeks!

All the big things work out eventually and all the little annoying things don't really matter. And a good mood is simply so much easier than a grumpy one. ("The only one you're punishing is yourself," lectured the boyfriend, who has some sort of invisible shield that defends his chirpy mood from my early morning evil eye.) It's harder work to frown than smile!

Apparently writing goes one step beyond helping me prioritize my thoughts and turns me into a nauseatingly cheery philosopher (first one ever) so let's end this before it gets sickening. 

Happy Friday!

99 B-line

Throughout the summer I think I did quite a good job of shedding the student label and immersing myself in the work world. Not only did I stick with my two retail jobs, but also I started my internship. This allowed me to take the career girl mentality to a whole new level as I wore my adult dress pants and stationed myself at my little cubicle from 9 to 5 (allegedly) every day. But, as the September rain started to fall and the 99 B-line became increasingly stuffed with textbook-toting coffee-chugging UBCers on my commute every morning, I realized more and more that I belong with them. It feels a little strange to hop off the bus at Granville Street and make my way to an office building where I have to exchange pleasantries in the elevator and swap stories at the water cooler (actually . . .) rather than continuing down Broadway for another twenty minutes and falling out of the overflowing bus doors onto campus.

I always thought that I loved being a student because I love reading, writing, and learning. This is all true. But it's so much more than that! Being a student is a complete lifestyle, and it suits me much more than this one. I prefer to carry my coffee in a travel mug from home and wear my oversized sweaters and scarves to a cozy library where I can read in peace. Instead, I am currently sitting at a desk with a giant Starbucks beside me in shoes that hurt my feet and the constant buzz of activity around me, waiting on edge for the next dreaded pop-in (my boss has developed the uncomfortable habit of incessantly popping his head into my cubicle at whim). I prefer to spend my afternoons and evenings in Calhoun's writing and editing papers, surrounded by other wired students simultaneously loving and hating their lives. Instead, when I am finished work for the day, there's nothing I have to do! (True, the freedom to then do whatever I want is a refreshing change that is appreciated once in a while, but for the most part it just makes me feel listless and useless.) I prefer to organize my own time, making lists and plans of all the books I need to get through and tests I need to study for and checking things off as I go. Instead, I am given assignments at any given time that need to be completed immediately, resulting in an irrational cycle of having nothing to do (hence random 4pm blog post) and then suddenly having a whole lot to do. (Now!) My days are made up of mellow lulls followed by frantic panic, which surely can't be too healthy. (I prefer the healthy dose of constant and tense stress doled out alongside a full course load and a $600 textbook bill.)

That's not to say I'm not loving my internship. I learn a lot - about a lot of really random things. (For instance, today I did extensive research on safe injection sites, Lululemon, Chris Hadfield, Botox . . .you name it.) It's all very interesting and I do enjoy it. But I don't love the context. It's just not part of my personality to be satisfied by sitting still all day and working for somebody else. And that is why I am so excited to start working on my grad school application. This time next year, fingers crossed, I will get to stay on the 99 all the way, hunched in the humid corner with a pile of books and papers. In comfortable shoes. With cheap coffee.

A Quick Rant

As somebody who has always enjoyed writing and considered it to be a strength of mine, it has been extremely eye-opening to leave the academic writing world and enter the professional (somewhat) writing world. In school I wrote dozens and dozens of term papers, and received high marks for the most part. I would spend weeks writing outlines and constructing sentences and paragraphs that were exactly what I wanted them to be, and then would have them returned to me with a few scribbles in the margins, sometimes a much appreciated comment on the last page, and a big red letter that was, usually, the one I was hoping to see.

Nowadays, I don't get the indulgence of my comfy desk in my quiet home and a due date months in the future. I don't even get the luxury of writing in my own voice. Instead, I have a little cubicle in the midst of organized (to be generous) chaos, an assignment with a deadline that most often is in the next several hours, and the task of writing about something I don't know about in a voice that sounds like somebody else's.

The result? A lot of editing, and a transformation of the words I crafted into other words entirely. My editor gives me an assignment - more often than not it is about a topic I know absolutely zero about - and I research as quickly as I can before writing the exact number of words she requested. I give it to her, and wait to receive a new copy of it that is completely unrecognizable. Words crossed out, words added in, and sometimes no sign at all that the words I'm now reading have been rewritten in their entirety. Often, it's pretty diheartening to see that somebody else didn't love your work as much as you did. And to sit back down and rework a piece that you have reread to death already can be quite draining.

Thank goodness for my own little blog that allows me to toss my destroyed assignemnt to the side for ten minutes so that I can let my thoughts flow as they come, with nobody to then take this from me and make it sound like an ominous anonymous voice. I can write the first thing that comes to mind and just leave it there, knowing that nobody else can touch it. How refreshing!

But now, because that deadline really is looming, I have to get back to work. This quick rant makes that task seem a lot less daunting.

Having It All

I'm one of those people who gets nervous when things are going too well because I assume that something will have to go wrong soon to even things out. But for the past couple months I've been on a roll (knock on wood) and I'm starting to believe that maybe (just maybe) you really can have it all.

That's not to say that it all comes down to luck. You obviously have to work hard to play hard and great things don't just come to you without a little blood, sweat, tears, and good karma. The good news is that I don't mind working up a sweat and shedding a few tears if the pay off is what I have now. This summer I have managed to score my dream job and my dream guy and maintain my self-sufficiency and independence, while working three jobs but making time for a lot of fun and adventure. I've never been more exhausted, but I've never been happier or more satisfied.

My "dream job" (for now at least - it constantly changes and tends to be whatever is happening in the moment) is working at the editorial department at Vancouver Magazine. This internship is ideal in every way - who wouldn't want to talk to the greatest chefs in Vancouver, drink our best local wines, and get all the inside details on every event in this city, all while writing and editing? - besides the fact that it is more or less unpaid. Which means that it is totally worth doing, I just also have to do a lot more. So I fit about 30 hours per week of work at my two favourite stores around my full time position at the magazine in order to keep my cozy and colourful little apartment all to myself. Needless to say, my day planner is almost as packed as it was when I was a student (which is saying a lot).

I often work two shifts a day, and I can't even remember my last day off, yet this summer has consisted of  an endless number of runs on the Sea Wall, a countless number of drinks at my favourite Yaletown and Kits bars, and a continuous exploration of summer in Vancouver. From The Chief to Bard on the Beach, from the Night Market to the Sea Wheeze, from beach days to movie nights, from the Rush concert to the Fun. concert, from the fireworks nights to The Bachelorette nights, and from the Sunset Festival to movies in the park, this summer has somehow been filled with all the love, laughter, and fun I could have asked for, despite my 70 hour/week work schedule. I really have had it all. Especially because the play time is not nearly as worthwhile without the work time.

I think perhaps the biggest sacrifice I've made in the name of "having it all" is (besides sleep . . .) this blog! My poor little blog has been so abandoned! So I am making a vow to myself now that this becomes a priority on the list. It will be scheduled into my planner if that's what it takes. Writing is far too important to me to allow it to fall by the wayside. Once I've got that under control, I really will have it all: the most supportive family ever, the most wonderful friends in the world, the best boyfriend a girl could want, a home that is all mine, a job that I've dreamed of for years, constant laughter and adventure, and my own little blog that keeps me company on rainy and slow days at the office. Could you ever want anything more?

Knock on wood. (The cynicism isn't completely dead just yet.)

Doing Nothing Alone

My phone has picked up the annoying habit of spontaneously shutting off for no reason at all and refusing to turn back on again. When this happened in the middle of my lunch break yesterday as I was making plans for later that night, I had a minor panic attack resulting in a hurried trip over to the mall to track down a Telus store that would allow me to charge it up quickly. By the time the sales associate there grasped the concept that I did not want to purchase either a new charger, a new battery, or a new phone, my poor little guy only got about three and a half minutes in the "recharge center" before I had to rip him off life support and run back to work. This meant, unfortunately, that he didn't make it, leaving me disconnected from the world for the rest of the afternoon.

Of course, my initial plan was that I would rush straight home after work to get my phone plugged in and charged up so that I could commence communication with those people who had been so rudely interrupted and subsequently ignored due to my phone's malfunctioning. But over the course of an afternoon in which I did not find myself repeatedly grasping for my phone, giving and receiving constant updates, I started to feel a little more relaxed about being disconnected.. And I had a brilliant thought. What if my day didn't revolve around texts and plans and expectations? What if I just gave my phone a little time off, and did whatever I wanted to do, all alone? The sun outside added to the appeal of this novel idea, and so I decided that I would not, in fact, sprint home the second I got off work, but instead would wander aimlessly and easily wherever I felt like going.

Me being me, I happened to have a book, a Starbucks card, and a PB&J sandwich in my purse, and that's all I really need for a date with myself. I spent the evening downtown, wandering in and out of stores, reading and tanning at a park on the water, and exploring the city I've always loved but am still getting to know. I didn't talk to anybody; I never even checked the time. And I noticed on my way home after several hours on my own that not only was I meandering at half the speed I normally walk at, but also I had been standing at an intersection for about five minutes and had never pressed the button that I usually incessantly push in my frantic hurry to get to wherever I'm going.

Alone time doing nothing (without a phone!) left me relaxed and gave me time to think through those thoughts that everyday life blocks out. It forced me to enjoy my own company and to make myself happy. It de-cluttered a brain that is often overflowing with lists and plans, allowing me to focus purely on the present moment. It was a much needed break from a hectic life that is often concerned with balancing schedules and accommodating others. Alone time doing nothing made me focus on myself, right now, which is something I rarely do, but is something that is very necessary.

But, it was able to be so positive because, even though I was alone, I never felt lonely. I knew that once my phone sputtered back to life I'd be thrown back in the midst of family and friends who, although they may keep me glued to my screen a lot of the time, they also keep my life full and happy. So, even though I enjoyed my afternoon date with myself, doing nothing alone, I think I may start carrying my phone charger in my purse. Because a date like that will need to be scheduled in next time; I don't know if I've grown enough to be able to handle another impromptu phone coma quite yet.

The Real World

I've had an addiction to the MTV "reality" show The Real World for the past five years or so. I watch every new season, and I've even spent some time perusing the first few seasons online.. The show started out twenty years ago as an attempt to actually portray the real world by putting six or seven twenty-somethings from all different walks of life in a house together so that the gay man with AIDS can become friends with the struggling cartoonist and the sorority girl (The Real World San Francisco, circa 1993 - my favourite season). The show has developed over the years, changing from portraying the work and relationships of smart, unique, and entertaining young adults to exposing the drama and horror of dumb and hot, but just as entertaining, individuals. Nevertheless, the show has remained a constant guilty pleasure in my life. There's something about the illusion of reality that makes disgusting television feel less pathetic.

When I was in school, The Real World was a weekly hour-long study break during which I could feel my mind melting and shutting down as I watched drunken catfights between half-dressed crazies unfold before my glazed over eyes. It was a welcome relief to embrace the mindlessness of ultimate stupidity. Now that I am no longer a full time student, the hour I spent every week for the past two months watching The Real World Portland can't be justified so easily. Not only is the necessity of sixty solid minutes of not thinking slowly fading, but also my entrance into the real world makes the act of watching The Real World all the more disheartening.

Everybody always warns that the real world isn't as magical as imagined by us youngsters, but that doesn't stop most people from jumping at it as soon as possible. I was never like that; I was never itching to be done with school so that I could take on the responsibilities of an adult. I was genuinely satisfied with the trials and tribulations of student life, and even though I definitely had more than my fair share of stressful moments, I always knew that I was lucky to be a student in the first place and I was content right where I was. I was pulled and pushed into the real world against my will, but now that I'm here I'm finding myself to be quite content once again.

My real world now consists of balancing two jobs and enduring that annoying ache at the back of your mind labelled "financial stress" that never really goes away. And it involves having to deal with all the little day to day things by myself when they would be a much smaller deal if endured alongside a parent or partner. But it is also defined by independence, freedom, and adventure. I have a home that is only mine, I have easy jobs that are fun and that I actually enjoy going to, and I am busy purely because I want to be. I have had many moments of daunting loneliness and uncertainty, but ultimately, I have yet to discover the horrors of the real world that were supposedly awaiting me. I go to work to pay my bills, and other than that I do whatever I want to do.

Now when people ask me what I am, I can't tell them I'm a student anymore. So my answer has become "a recent graduate who is going back to school asap" because, as much as I'm enjoying the real world, I can't do this forever. I am a perpetual student, and am itching to crawl back to the pale-faced, sleep-deprived, red-eyed world of reading and writing all day every day. The real world is a fun place to be for now, but I think I am much better suited as a student who emerges from her textbooks every so often to enjoy being a spectator of The Real World.

For now though, I have another year and two months of the real world spread out before me, and the only thing to do is run at it full on, grasping those moments not taken up by lectures and libraries, and making my world as exciting as it can be. It's time to live in the moment and do whatever I want. I may have to put The Real World on hold for a bit, but it will be there waiting for me when I return to my true self.

Running

I love to run!

My love of running has developed slowly but surely over the past several years. I first learned that I could run when I was in grade eight. For PE we all had to run six laps of the track, and having never run more than about two laps before - due to my insistence that, if anything, I was a sprinter (which most definitely was not the case) - I had no idea what was going to happen. I ended up finishing second in my class, after a girl whose legs were the length of my body, and suddenly I was a 'long-distance runner'. (Nevermind the fact that 2.4 kilometers hardly qualifies as 'long-distance'.) Due to the unfortunate coincidence that my PE teacher at the time was also my track coach, I spent the rest of high school running cross-country races in the Fall and 800, 1500, and 3000 meter races at track events in the Spring. I did a decent job, but I hated it, and preferred to put my time and energy into school and dance. It didn't help that I was forced against my will - even in those seasons when I refused to go to practices, the coach still insisted that I go to the meets. I would never run on my own time either, but then would find myself lined up at a start line amidst a bunch of other fourteen year old girls in their weird track cleats and intricate braids. I was not happy. So high school was the start of my relationship with running - but it was a rocky start. I was starting to get to know it, but really didn't like it.

In university, I had to start working out of my own accord. There were no more dance classes, field hockey practices, or soccer games to keep me in shape by accident, and I needed to stay active. The gym was good for some things, but what I really wanted was to be outside. And so I started running voluntarily. I had no idea how fast or how far I was running, but I'd work up a sweat and feel good about myself. I still found running to be pretty boring, but at least it had a purpose for me this time. It was keeping me in shape. So running developed from something I despised to something I found useful. It kept my legs toned and my cardio in check, and I got some fresh air and sun along the way. I still didn't love running, but I was beginning to value it.

Last year, I decided I wanted to run a half-marathon. That goal came out of the blue, driven by my competitive spirit when a few girls I knew told me that they would be running the 21.1 kilometers around Vancouver in August. I signed up completely on a whim, and drew up my own sad little training plan based around my LSAT study guide. I spent all of April-July alternating between LSAT practice questions and long runs up and down hills in the summer sun. Training for that half marathon was an interesting revolution in my relationship with running. Unlike high school, I'd chosen voluntarily to run a race. And unlike the previous couple years, the goal wasn't to simply stay in shape and get a work out. However, I still wasn't really loving running. I was doing this to compete, pure and simple. But I wasn't even doing it for myself, I was doing it for my boyfriend. I didn't want to, or need to, show off to him, but I wanted to show off for him. I was always bragging about him to my family and friends and I wanted him to have something to be proud of me for. I thought that maybe running could be that thing. I ended up running a pretty good race considering my complete lack of experience, and  it worked: we were both proud of me. Yet my relationship with running remained stagnant. It had served its purpose, but I didn't love it.

Despite my cry when I crossed the finish line - "I am never doing that again!" - I almost immediately registered for two more half marathons for the following summer. The sense of accomplishment that overcomes your body and mind when you've pushed yourself to your limits is something that needs to be felt again once you've experienced it once. I ran regularly throughout the Fall and Winter, but didn't take it too seriously until the upcoming race was a couple months away. This time frame just happened to coincide with my life falling to pieces, and suddenly my relationship with running reached a new height. Running was one of my best friends when I was all of a sudden alone and confused and overwhelmed. To be able to go outside and run anywhere, being totally alone and allowing my mind to either think or not think as my body exhausts itself, is completely amazing, and helped me through many rough days. I was falling in love with running.

My first half marathon of the year was a couple weeks ago, and that was a big day for me. I thought I was ready to run the race, but in the day leading up to the run I was depressed. Last year, I ran it for my boyfriend, who cooked me dinner the night before and got up early to drive me to the start line, and who ran almost as much as I did that day so that he'd be able to cheer me on along the way, because I wanted him to be proud of me. Now, I was standing at the start line, alone in a crowd of 10,000 people, with nobody to run this race for. Just like the year before, my family was waiting along the route with signs and cheers to keep me going, but I still felt lost, because my purpose for running was gone. I didn't want to do it, and I must have looked pretty dejected because people I didn't know were patting me on the back and telling me, "Don't worry! You'll finish!" I wasn't worried if I could finish the run or not, I was confused. Why was I doing this?

It wasn't until about ten seconds before the race began that I finally realized I was going to have to do this for myself. I was going to run because I want to, and I enjoy it, and I can do it on my own. So that's what I did. It wasn't a pretty run - I hurt my knee after about only four kilometers and spent the rest of the race nauseous and limping - but it was still amazing. Not only did I not stop, but I actually finished faster than I did last time. I proved to myself that I can do these things on my own, and, just as importantly, I fell in love with running for the sake of running. Not as a work out, and not as a competition, but as something that I enjoy purely for the feelings it gives me.

Now, I love running. We have a great relationship. I don't run simply because it keeps me in shape. And I don't run just because I can compete. I run because it is what I love to do. It calms me down when I'm upset. It gives me energy when I'm tired. It releases tension and stress, and emphasizes excitement and purpose. It allows me to clear my head and organize my thoughts, to make plans, to let my mind wander. It keeps me company. It lets me be alone. Most of all, I love running because it is through running that I learned how much I am capable of, all on my own.

Happy Things

With my new routine (or lack thereof) that has taken hold over the past couple weeks, I've noticed that the days tend to blend together. I find myself thinking that Thursday is Tuesday and the weekend was both yesterday and tomorrow, because there's no class schedule with which I can differentiate Monday from Friday and everything in between and beyond. Because I write absolutely everything down on a calendar (yes - a piece of paper with a calendar drawn on it) that I carry around with me, I do still end up making it to all my events, appointments, and shifts. The concern isn't so much about remembering where to go, but more about creating memories to hold on to. When I can't tell myself that on Wednesday I went to two English classes then met a friend for lunch on my way to work (as I used to do every Wednesday), I find that I completely draw a blank on what Wednesday held for me, and it takes me several seconds to conjure up a memory of a day that was unstructured and out of the ordinary (as all my days are now).

My friend and I were browsing the adorable little knick-knack shops of Granville Island this afternoon, and in a stationary store we found a journal that we both loved. The front said "One Line a Day" and the inside had a space to write down one line a day for five years, with the idea that this line would sum up the best part of that day and would be a memory jog for years to come. We both thought this was a brilliant idea (we just didn't think that the price tag of $18.95 for a bunch of lined paper between two pieces of cardboard was so brilliant).

I was thinking about that little journal long after we dropped it like a hot potato and ran, and realizing that it could be the perfect solution to my current problem. Except, I want to take it up a notch. Instead of just writing one line, I'm going to write a list at the end of every day of all the good things that happened to me in the past twenty four hours. It's my little twist on a combination of "One Line a Day" and Oprah's Gratitude Journal. It can be big things or small things, and the list will definitely be longer some days than others. My one rule for myself, though, is that I'm not going to sit there thinking about it - I'm just going to jot down a quick list of all the things that have made me happy today. I feel like this will do great things for me.

So let's start right now.

What made me happy today?
1) I spent the morning replying to emails from past professors who not only want to write me reference letters for grad school but also actually asked if they could help me with my entire application to ensure I get accepted. This made me grateful because I went to such a great university, with an amazing English department that has professors who go above and beyond.
2) My friend and I spent the afternoon walking along Kits Beach to Granville Island, where we meandered aimlessly for hours before walking up to South Granville where we browsed in one of my favourite places - Chapters. This made me grateful for so many things: a wonderful friendship, an absolutely incredible city to call home, and beautiful Spring weather.
3) I started redecorating my apartment! (Sidenote - As my apartment has emptied out over the past week or so, I've become increasingly anxious. When we first moved in here, we did a massive bulk shop at Ikea, and the place was filled with all of the essentials in one day. That is just not feasible for me this time around, which made me very uneasy, until my mom pointed out to me that accumulating items one at a time is much more rewarding and satisfying than all at once. This way, I only buy pieces that I really love and that are great deals. So, today I bought a gorgeous lamp that I absolutely love, and it was on sale! Sure, I still don't have a bed...but I have a lamp that was 50% off and has tassels wrapped around the stand and a beautiful bronze shade, and that makes both me and my wallet smile.) This made me grateful for a fresh start in which I can do things for myself and by myself.
4) I went out with my mom and my sister for dinner, and we enjoyed a girls night with Mexican food and margaritas. This made me grateful for family, girl time, salsa, and tequila.

Well I can tell you all first-hand, right off the bat, that this little exercise definitely plasters on a smile and makes an awesome day one that won't easily be forgotten. Try it!

Routine

With the end of the semester comes a complete loss of routine. Add to the fact that the past month and a half not only brought me to the end of my four year university career but also carried me from living with my boyfriend to living on my own, and the change in my daily rituals becomes increasingly dramatic. My weekdays used to go a little something like the following: get up to say good bye to the boyfriend before he goes to work, go back to bed for half an hour, get up at 8:00 so I can watch Rachel Ray while eating breakfast and cleaning the kitchen, head off to two or three classes, go to work, meet the boyfriend at home, go for a work out together, come home and make dinner, watch The Sopranos, then bed. It was a pretty solid routine that had minor variations thrown in throughout the week. And I was very comfortable with it.

For the past couple weeks, my weekdays have been going a little something like this: roll off the couch (currently my bed) at whatever time the sun happens to peek through the curtains, put on a pot of coffee, forget about the coffee for over an hour as I lie back down in my makeshift bed to reply to emails and dreamily browse the Ikea website, remember the coffee and finally get up to make breakfast, eventually make it out of the house for a run, go shower before meeting a friend for a coffee date or a walk, find some lunch once I realize I'm hungry, go to work at whatever random time I've been scheduled for that day, come home and make dinner while I watch The New Adventures of Old Christine on my laptop (currently my TV), find some cheap way for my friends and I to amuse ourselves, then bed.

It's not a very solid routine. I wake up at a different time every morning and go to bed at a different time every night. My work shifts are all over the place. My running routine is inconsistent. Everything is a mess! Without any classes to schedule my day around, everything falls apart. And with nobody at home to keep me on track with eating breakfast at breakfast time and so on, my days are very unstructured. I've never not been a student before! And I've never lived completely alone before! This is way too much freedom for my liking.

There is something to be said for a flexible schedule, but I think there is much more to be said for a routine. That's just my personality - I become a little unhinged when I realize it's 9:00am and I have not yet downed my two cups of coffee and moved on to my first of eight bottles of water for the day. (Okay, maybe that's a little more obsessive than merely valuing a routine. But that's an issue to be explored another day.) Basically, I can only take so many days of this freedom. It's time for a routine again! And I figure the first of the month is the perfect time to get back into the swing of things. It will be a completely different type of routine than I've ever had before - no classes, no study time, no working around my boyfriend's work schedule or training schedule. But that's okay! It's time for a totally new routine. One that is based completely on me, myself, and I.

Tired

Well it's 1:00 in the morning and I feel exhausted from staying up late last night and then getting up early this morning to study for MY LAST EVER FINAL, and I want to go to bed, but I feel like this day would not be complete without a blog post.

Usually, I have some idea of what I'm going to say. Most often I don't know where my posts are going to end up, but I at least always know where they are going to start. That's not the case here. So I guess I'll just write something . . .

This month has been a wild ride. It's been full of mistakes, revelations, regrets, confessions, renewals, epiphanies, and promises. It's been full of moments of complete confusion and moments of complete contentment. It's been full of tears and full of smiles. It's been full of stress, sadness, guilt, hope, happiness, surprise, and love. This month has definitely been a transition month, taking me from low to high to low to high as it's carried me from overwhelmed and unsure to confident and stable. It has truly been a month of finding myself. It's been full of changing and growing and learning. And after all of it, I am ready for a fresh start.

And what better time for a fresh start? April is changing to May and Winter is changing to Spring. I just completed the last exam of my degree, and am now finally graduating! I'm moving to my own place once and for all. For the foreseeable future, I have the freedom to do whatever I want to do, and I'm pretty excited about it. The opportunity for a clean break and a fresh start doesn't come around all that often, and maybe I didn't ask for it, but I am definitely savoring it. Anything can happen now, and I'm ready to take it on.

I wish I could offer insightful reflections on these random ideas floating through my head, but my brain is fried. I guess a long day of work after an intense exam, following a grueling exam period, following the most emotionally unstable month of my life, following a demanding semester, which lies at the end of four years of constant thinking and working, can build up to quite the level of exhaustion. I'm going to go sleep, without setting an alarm for the morning (!), and maybe soon I'll be able to string a suitable sentence together.

For now, I leave you with this thought stolen from my grandma's wisdom: If you have faith in yourself, your life will always head in the direction it is meant to go. Nobody knows their destiny, so all you can do is live in the present, making the smartest choices possible and doing your best in that moment. If you do that, your life will undoubtedly unfold in whatever way will result in your greatest happiness.

(This all ties together somehow, I'm just not quite sure how right now.)

The End is Near

On the eve of my last day of classes as an undergraduate at UBC, I should be editing the term paper I have due tomorrow while gearing up for Block Party (the end of year bbq/beer garden/outdoor concert taking place tomorrow that is always a weird mixture of going all out to celebrate the last day of class while subconsciously knowing that the next morning cannot be too rough as it brings the start of a solid two and a half weeks of studying for exams). Instead, I find myself cuddled on my couch with a blanket, a G&T, and Friends playing in the background as I compose yet another blog post.

It is a strange feeling to know that tomorrow is my last day of classes. For the past four years, I have spent five days a week on campus, walking from one Buchanan room to the next where I listen to the experts who I have revered spewing all sorts of information at me as I furiously scribble notes in an effort to remember their words forever. I am not one of those students who was always dying to be done with school and is having a panic attack now that the end is near and I've realized I'll actually have to start working full time. I am one of those students who has enjoyed school from the beginning because I love learning for the sake of learning. I have genuinely appreciated every moment I've had in the classroom, and have even been grateful for those moments spent outside of the classroom, in the library and at home, toiling over papers and sweating through studying. As somebody who has studied the importance of education, and who has even travelled to places far away to witness the consequences of a lack of education first hand, I know that it is something that should never be taken for granted, and I have always been thankful for the education I've been able to receive. I have loved every minute of it, and don't really want it to end . . .

However, I think that graduating will be a great opportunity to start experiencing new ways of learning. Education doesn't always need to happen in a classroom. Work and travel can bring similar rewards. Now that UBC is forcing me out, I can take the opportunity to go learn in a variety of different avenues, and start checking some things off my bucket list. I'll miss being a student, but the absence of a label brings the freedom to be anything and go anywhere. And all the skills I learned at university will benefit me in whatever I do.

A lot of people ask me what I learned in the past four years. Sometimes this is a polite question. (So what's your favourite thing that you learned at UBC?) Sometimes this is a skeptical question. (Did you even learn anything useful at UBC?) Sometimes this is a curious question. (So what exactly did you learn at UBC?) The question always seems to be looking for a specific answer, like "I learned how responsibilities are divided between the federal and provincial governments" or "I learned how Margaret Thatcher influenced British literature in the 1980s" or "I learned the intricacies of the nuclear disarmament debate" or "I learned how to write a fifteen page research paper in three days" or "I learned the meaning of life." It's true that I did learn all these things (except maybe that last one) and so much more. But that's not what I value about my time at UBC. When people ask me any one of those questions, I tell them that I learned how to think.

The university setting is an interesting one, because you are being handed loads of information that you are forced to process, memorize, and understand, yet also criticize. Every opinion, every side to the argument, is always explored and torn apart. It is so interesting to constantly be thinking with an open and accepting mind, assuming that every answer could be the right answer, while simultaneously finding every weakness of that point and ripping it to shreds. Thinking with both an open and a critical mind is something that has to be learned. It isn't natural to want to see the best and worst of every side to the debate, and it takes time and practice to recognize that no issue is black and white, but that every argument is valid in its own right. You can pick a side, but you have to acknowledge that there will always be somebody on the opposing side, and they think you are just as wrong as you think they are. My past four years of school demonstrated to me that when it comes to thinking, I have to be both accepting yet critical of every claim, even my own, and that is what I am taking away from my university experience. It will, I hope, benefit every aspect of my life.

I have loved my time at UBC and I expect that knowing how to think productively will empower me in endeavors outside of the classroom. However, I can't get too far ahead of myself yet. I still have two classes, two papers, four exams, and one graduation ceremony to get through. Here we go . . .

Changes

It's pretty weird to write about this, but as this blog is supposed to be about finding your true self in your twenties it would be almost dishonest to leave out the big change going on in my life right now. So here goes.

My boyfriend and I were together for over two years. And we moved in together a few months ago. And we broke up this week.

I won't go into the details of our relationship or our break up. All the things that matter are obviously personal and special to both he and I, and don't need to be shared with everybody. What I want to write about is the transition from being in a committed relationship with the love of my life to being single and independent.

What I will say is that we have the good fortune of ending things on very good terms. While the moment of decision was not necessarily mutual, we both know in our hearts that this is the right thing to do, and we will support each other along the way. That doesn't make it any easier though. It is extremely hard to now be living in the home that we made together all by myself. It's so difficult to not talk to him about every thought and feeling I'm experiencing. And it's next to impossible to try to look to the future and move on, knowing that I simply met my soul mate at the wrong time.

When I was nineteen, I loved being single. I was going out all the time and dating a lot of guys, and I'd just stopped seeing someone I really liked because it felt like it was starting to get serious. I loved being independent and free. I could appreciate that I was young and should live in the moment, but I also had so many plans. One reason I was so adamant about not getting serious with anybody was because I was about to move to England for six months. But then a few weeks before I left I met the man who would become my boyfriend for the next couple years. In hindsight, the problems in our relationship trace back to that unlucky timing. I fell in love with him, but that doesn't mean I grew up and instantly became girlfriend material.

Of course, the majority of our relationship was fun and happy and positive. But when problems did arise, we always seemed to come back to this point about timing. I was not ready for a relationship when I met him, yet could not seem to say no to him like I'd been able to do with other guys because of the simple fact that I did love him. This tension and confusion built up inside me, and seemed to come out in horrible ways sometimes. If only we'd met a couple years later, when I'd decided for myself that I was ready for a boyfriend before we met, then maybe I would have fit the relationship mould a little better. I do not believe that I loved the wrong person, I just believe that it happened at the wrong time. And it's hard to get over that.

Now I am finding myself back where I was at the age of nineteen, just halfway through university. Except I'm 21. And I'm graduating. Wouldn't it have been perfect if I'd spent the past two years living the single student life, and been ready for a relationship now, as the rest of my life is beginning? Too bad you can't go back in time.

One positive spin that a lot of my friends and family have been presenting to me is the fact that my life would be changing right now anyway. In a few weeks I will be done with school, and I already didn't know where I would be working or what I would be doing. Now I can just add that I also don't know where I'll be living or who I'll be doing this with... In moments of sadness and regret, this thought brings all-consuming loneliness, but in moments of optimism, it brings feelings of liberation. For the first time in a while, I can legitimately make it all about me. I can be selfish without hurting anybody in the process. I can potentially go anywhere and do anything. Uncertainty can be terrifying, but it can also be freeing.

It's a stretch to say that that idea excites me already. Right now, the focus is on getting used to being by myself in the day to day. It's hard to say good bye to somebody who shared your life so completely. But at least I have that glimmer of possibility now. I can slowly start to grab hold of the adventurous ambition that used to define me, and do whatever it is that I want to do. Up until a couple weeks ago, I thought my twenties would consist of starting a career and a family. But maybe my twenties will be all about carefree spontaneity. Maybe I'll revert back to that impulsive nineteen year old and finally complete that stage of my life. OR maybe I'll learn that a serious relationship actually is what I really want. Either way, it's all about finding your true self - learning who you are and what you want. I guess we'll have to wait and see what happens.

Sun

The sun really has the power to improve my mood a lot. Everything is so much better when it's sunny out. Here in Vancouver, we are much more accustomed to rain than sun, and it seems like sometimes we don't even notice that we've fallen victim to the rainy funk. All through September and October there are rainy spells, until that one day in November when you realize that you can't even remember the last day without rain. This continues for weeks, all through the Winter, with the exception of those few days when you try to call the white stuff falling from the sky 'snow' even though it's going to turn into streams of brown slush and be washed away by a fresh batch of rain within the day. As the end of February approaches, there are those one or two sporadic days of sun, when you think you can see Spring coming but don't allow yourself to get too excited about it yet since this cycle happens every year and you know the inevitable rain will return shortly. Sure enough, there are a couple more weeks of rain and wind, even though, thankfully, it's a little warmer now, until . . . today. The sun is out, the sky is blue, and the rain is gone. And maayybbee this time it's for good?

As a born and raised Vancouverite, I've lived with the determined insistence that I like the rain. Sometimes it's pretty hard to make it from Monday to Friday unless you keep telling yourself that. Especially on days when you're carrying a bag filled with five textbooks, a laptop, a coffee, and an umbrella as you jog to the classroom that's a good two kilometers from the bus loop with your new leather boots getting soaked through and your umbrella continually being blown inside out. In times like this it helps to chant "I like the rain. I like the rain." as you leap over puddles and sidestep other drowning students. And at moments, I really do genuinely like the rain. Writing a paper is actually much easier and much more enjoyable when it's raining and you're cozy inside the library with a hot chocolate and all the other focused students who are avoiding the trek back home. It's a bit different when it's sunny out and you can catch glimpses of people suntanning through the window as you're constantly taking your sweater off and putting it back on in the air-conditioned library.

However, as much as I try to find the golden moments in my rainy city and convince myself that I like the rain, the truth is that the sun is so much better. As soon as that sun comes out, everything is warmer and happier. Earlier today, my friend and I had a two hour break and we decided to not do any work and just wander . . . This was a strange concept for both of us. But after some lunch we meandered outside where we watched Storm the Wall for a little bit. This is a competition that happens at UBC at the end of every year in which people cycle, swim, run, and then find their way over a twelve foot wall. It was great to be surrounded by that school spirit, especially at the end of my last semester at UBC, and it was made all the better by the fact that I could comfortably stand there in a T-shirt and denim jacket and actually needed sunglasses to see properly. Next we strolled over to the UBC bookstore (one of my favourite places in the world . . . which probably doesn't come as a surprise) and then up to the new UBC fountain. It was so nice to be outside in the sun with nowhere we had to go, just enjoying our gorgeous campus and all the people around us. (One thing we loved observing was the clothing schizophrenia that happens this time of the year. There are some people in shorts and flip-flops, desperately trying to turn today into summer, and some people still in their boots and coats, clearly trying not to get their hopes up. Oh, Vancouver.)

It was a great break in the midst of a busy week, and something that would not have happened in the rain. The sun brings with it the freedom to take a break, and it is in those slow moments that true feelings of contentment set in. Let's hope that this time Spring is here to stay!

Full Circle

I have two weeks of classes left before exams and then I'm done my BA. Notice the absence of an exclamation point there. Because I am not excited.

I love being a student! (!) And while of course there have been many times when I've been wishing that I was this close to the end, now that it is here, it's pretty bitter. (People around me keep saying "bittersweet" but I'm not there yet.)

Two big things happened today to shock me into this comatose state in which I drag my studying heels as much possible. The first is that I had my last English Majors Seminar. This is a required course that every English Lit. student has to take in their last year, and I absolutely loved mine. Now that it's over, I'm realizing that my entire undergraduate experience is coming to an end. It didn't help that my professor decided the conceit of the discussion would be full circles and how the end always leads back to the beginning (cue irrational panic attack: have I accomplished nothing in four years!?) while serving cookies that he informed us could be bought at a 24 hour bakery downtown that we must look out for next time we find ourselves on Robson St. at 1:00AM in an altered state (I'm going to miss that guy). The good news is, I still have my term paper to write for this class, so that's something to look forward to...

The second is that my little brother got accepted to UBC! While I am extremely proud and excited for him, I am also somewhat devastated for myself. Why does he get to start the best four years of his life while mine are ending!? It was just another reminder that this whole experience is coming to an end, and that I'm approaching it increasingly quickly.

I suppose the root of my anxiety (other than the fact that I genuinely enjoy school and am dreading waking up every day without plans of walking around the most gorgeous campus in the world from one stimulating lecture to the next) is simply the fact that I have been in school for so long. What am I if not a student? This is how I've labelled and defined myself for the past twenty years. It's going to be strange to have something else to write on the 'occupation' line of forms, and it's going to be really strange to stop answering the question "What do you want to be?" and start answering the question "What do you do?"

But, I guess a different twist can be put on all of this. In a few weeks, I will have the freedom to go anywhere and do anything that I want. I won't have reading lists and paper deadlines, or lectures and meetings. I can grab back some of that ambition and adventure that has seemed to escape me over the past couple years as I've settled into a routine of read - write - read - write. I used to love travelling and working and learning in every way, not just in the classroom. These are things that I will have more opportunities for now that being a student won't be taking up all my time.

This might be a good chance to explain the "twenty" part of my "Twenty True," as many people have been asking me what this means. The "truth" part was explained in my first post. The "twenty" part simply refers to the fact that this process of finding my true self is happening in my twenties, as I think it does for many people. This again puts another positive twist on my impending graduation - I'm only 21! The next nine years and beyond will be spent figuring out exactly who I am and what I want. This first student phase is over, but there is so much more to come. This end is actually just another beginning.

And so, I am deciding in this moment that I'm only going to focus on the sweetness of these last few weeks of school and look forward to whatever is coming next, being excited (and a little terrified) about the fact that I have no idea what is about to happen.

Why?

"Why do you keep hitting your head against the wall?"
"Because it feels so good when I stop."

This was said to me the other day as a pithy reiteration of the feelings I'd been trying to express about running. I run a lot, and some of the time (when the weather is nice and I'm in good shape) I have fun doing so. But, most of the time, I don't actually enjoy the run until it's over. (This is because of something I've mentioned before - my obsession with particulars. If I'm not consistently hitting five minute kilometers as I'm running, then I tend to get a bit stressed out and my focus turns to checking my watch every three seconds as I try to pick up the pace while getting increasingly sweaty and out of breath. I should work on relaxing that standard.) Anyway, while the run can be enjoyable in itself sometimes, most often the enjoyment comes for me as soon as it's done. Once I've completed the distance I've assigned for myself that day, and feel as if I've consistently run as fast as I can, the feeling that comes over me is amazing. In the summer I ran a half marathon and set the goal for myself that I would run the entire thing, no matter how slow my pace became, so long as I never walked and never ever stopped. There were points when I cried (yes, actually cried) as I was running because I could not believe how tired I was and thought I might keel over at any second, but I didn't stop running and ended up finishing in two hours and three minutes, well under the two and a half hour goal I'd tentatively held in the back of my mind. I was on a high for days. Nevermind the fact that my ankles and knees were swollen and I literally couldn't get up and down stairs by myself, I had run as hard as I could and I felt great about it.

"Why do you keep running even when your toes are bleeding and you're sweating so much you can't see and you're so lightheaded that you're not even sure this is real?"
"Because it feels so good when I stop."

Without consciously realizing it, this is something that has applied to my whole life. Whenever I've neared the end of a tough semester and wanted to throw all my books out the window, my mom has reminded me that the coming break will feel so much better if I've worked as hard as I can. This is so true. Summer is that much sweeter when it stands at a stark contrast to the preceding months. Not only that, but it becomes all the more enjoyable when you feel as if you deserve it. Sure, a day lying on the beach is relaxing no matter what. But isn't it better when the day before was spent working, not lying on the beach, and you feel as if you've really earned this reward? I'm a firm believer in working for the good things in life. Otherwise, they're not so good to me.

I apply this to my daily life, too. When I have a lazy day and spend five hours watching Downton Abbey, I don't feel too great about myself. And by about the third episode, I'm not really enjoying myself anymore either. But when I've spent all day running around campus between classes with every break spent working on a paper in the library, and then my boyfriend and I go to my parents' house to watch The Amazing Race with my mom, some chocolate cake, and a glass of wine, that feels great.

"Why do you put your nose to the grindstone every day?"
"Because it feels so good when I stop."
(At least, that's one reason why!)

Productive Procrastination

While I expect that the novelty of publishing a new post every other day will wear off fairly quickly, for now it is a tempting new way to procrastinate and avoid the four term papers and mountains of reading I should be spending my time on. I purposely made no plans for my Saturday afternoon so that I could finally get caught up on all this schoolwork that has been nagging at the back of my mind throughout my week of classes and work (and maybe one write-off day as it fell after my last Pit night before graduation . . sshh), but now I find myself sitting at my computer with no motivation to tackle the pile of books and articles beside me.

This seems to contrast the attitude expressed in my first post of someone who is self-admittedly genuinely excited about her classes, but if you paid attention you would notice that what I love is going to classes and reading literature. What I don't love is reading about different categories of definitions (wow.) and combing through Al Jazeera articles to determine how different Occupy Wall Street activists may conflictingly describe the role of the facilitator in the consensus process. I don't have much patience for the research stage of papers - I much prefer those classes in which the professor wants you to do your own close reading of the text rather than refer to any outside sources at all - but, sadly, all week I have been adding research tasks to my Saturday to-do list, with the thinking that I would have just one bad day overwhelmed with the menial necessities of paper writing before I get started on the fun part. Yet now I sit here with a black cloud looming above me as I curse myself.

I am a master procrastinator. My trick is that I distract myself with things that I really have to do. When I don't want to embark on a fresh and daunting paper, I put in a load of laundry, clean the bathroom, reply to emails, go for a run, paint my nails, wash the dishes - all things that have to get done over the course of my day anyway. The problem is that I'm a bit of a neat freak and a little particular, and so washing the dishes actually means washing the dishes, cleaning the microwave, sweeping the floor, wiping down the counters, rearranging the fridge, taking apart the stove to clean every part of it, and organizing my cupboards. So each small task is actually a big time commitment and extends my procrastination by leaps and bounds. And the whole time I'm getting more and more anxious, knowing that now I'll have to stay up later and get up earlier to continue plugging in all possible combinations of "Jonson," "Penshurst," and "country house" in the MLA Bibliography search engine in hopes of finally miraculously discovering the one article that will be the answer to my prayers (fellow English Lit students all cringed with comprehension).

How to put an end to this procrastination? Well, as you can guess, when my homework for the night consists of reading the scandalous play "The Homecoming" by Harold Pinter and working my way through a slew of Ben Jonson poetry, the sink stays full of dishes for a little longer and the run gets put off. When homework doesn't feel like work, it becomes much more enjoyable and gets completed much quicker. I guess the secret is to try to enjoy it. So I'm going to pour myself a drink (sshh) and get into my sweats, and set myself a challenge: be done in three hours when the night is still young.

PS. Too bad I've deemed this blog to be a form of "productive procrastination" . . . perhaps you actually will be hearing from me this regularly for the rest of semester.

PPS. And yes, painting my nails is an almost daily ritual.

Polonius

In Hamlet, Polonius gave his son Laertes, after an otherwise long-winded and contradictory speech that leaves us questioning his ability to parent, one shining piece of advice:


"This above all, to thine own self be true."

In context, such a declaration is laughable, as Polonius has just spent a good amount of time telling Laertes to essentially take on whatever characteristics or identity will benefit him most in any given situation. However, when isolated, this statement holds great guidance, and it is something I try to quote to myself often. It's a piece of advice that can be consulted whenever a sticky situation is encountered or a  big decision is looming. One way I've chosen to paraphrase it as a mantra is with the term "true self."

When I first turned 18 and wanted to get a tattoo for the sake of getting a tattoo, I spent about five minutes deciding what would permanently be inked on my back. I wanted a bird, for the cliche representations of freedom and adventure, and so I looked up the symbolic meanings of different birds. I found that a swan symbolizes "true self" and so now I have a dainty little black outline of a swan on my shoulder, always reminding me to consult my true self.

I'm very good at listening to this inner voice, and most often choose to do what my true self knows to be right. Of course, there are times when I choose to ignore it or forget to listen to it properly. But for the most part, I take Polonius' advice and my swan's whisperings quite seriously. In one aspect of my life, though, I have subconsciously blocked my true self's expression. And that is what this blog is going to be about - finally tuning in and listening to what I know to be right in regards to my future.

I am an English Literature major at UBC, and have only four full weeks of class left before I graduate. When I first started at UBC it was with the intention of pursuing a Psychology degree, which soon changed to an IR degree, and then a Political Science degree. Finally, I acknowledged my true self's admittance that my favourite classes, and the ones in which I always did best, were my English classes. So I decided to make this my major. The hesitation had resulted from the constant and persistent question, "What can you even do with an English degree?" I was already getting this question about an Arts degree, hence my insistence on pursuing a "useful" major before finally succumbing to doing simply what I wanted to do, and I was dreading the inevitable need I would soon have of consistently defending my English degree. So, I set out to have a worthwhile answer to this question, and began making plans for enriching careers I could embark on after I graduated. 

What can you even do with an English degree?
Go into journalism.
So I spent days mapping out the exact path I would need to take to become a journalist. I would need an MA in journalism, and my marks were high enough to get accepted, I just needed some experience in actually working for a paper. So I went to the Ubyssey offices and told them I wanted to help and got through about half an hour of work before I realized that I absolutely despised writing in this "reporter voice" and there was no way I was ever going to be good at it or enjoy it. Next.

What can you even do with an English degree?
Work in publishing.
I've never liked the idea of working at a big company. I'm not the cubicle type. Next.

Be an editor.
Maybe, but I don't think I have the patience to actually do this full time for a living. Next.

Be a teacher.
But I like English literature because it involves literature. Next.

Try to be an author.
This is probably not something I should rely on for my livelihood. Next.

Become a lawyer.
This was the longest-lasting illusion. I went so far as to actually spend three months studying for the LSAT, write the exam, get all my academic references, have a consultation with an admissions professor, and start putting together my application. However, when my LSAT marks were not in the 93rd percentile, as is needed by UBC law, I had a second to reassess and to ask myself if I actually wanted to be a lawyer. The answer was no. I could do it. I knew I could be good at it and I knew I wouldn't hate it, but I would never love it. What I love is what I do right now.

Take this past Monday, for example. The school day started with my 10:00 Contemporary Literature class, in which we were discussing the novel Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson. It's a fourth year English class, and I find that once you reach upper-level classes you are surrounded by other people who truly enjoy learning about the given topic. The class was a 50 minute discussion on whether or not we should assume the romance scenes of the novel to be sincere or parodic. Of course, we reached no resolution, but every possibility was explored to its fullest. I then had my Discourse and Society class, another upper level English course, in which we are discussing the terminology made prevalent in the various mass movements of 2011, before my two hour break which was spent eating my lunch in the library and reading an absolutely wonderful novel called The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. The best part? That's my homework! I then had my two hour English majors seminar in 17th century poetry, and this particular class was held in the Special Collections room of the library where I got to flip through a first edition of the King James Bible from 1611 and actually hold a fourth edition of Milton's Paradise Lost (my love for this poem is extreme - it was an exciting moment).

How can a day get any better than that? And when I tap into my true self to ask what it is that I want to do for the rest of my life, the answer is that I want to keep doing what I'm already doing. So that's what's going to happen.

What can you even do with an English degree?
You can stay at UBC forever, first getting your MA, then your PhD, and then becoming a professor. 

So that's the new plan. And this blog is going to constantly remind me of what exactly my true self desires. It's going to record future exciting moments in my studies, track the transition from student to graduate to student again, and it's going to put Polonius' words into practice.