Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Matchmaker

Confession:
I am always the one before the One.

I have been proposed to by three different men. They each found the person they wanted to be with while being with me. It wasn't me. Every man I ever actually cared about left me for someone else and ultimately married them. I am always the one before the one.

G sent me a message today. He's found a new girlfriend.

Happy future. You're welcome buddy.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

All God's creatures

Confession: I live in a hick-town that is almost charming....ALMOST.

This town has a very strange culture. It is like a honkey tonk teenager trying to make it in the big city. There is a major alpha-male complex experienced by anything with a Y chromosone...and some with two Xs. I have never seen Dodge and Ford trucks of such a ridiculous size before. Your worth in this town is measure by how big your truck is. No kidding. It really is.

There are moments here when I almost find it charming though. I like going to the local IGA and hearing "looks she's the new teacher". Apparently after almost a year in this town, I'm still new. I like experiencing the rodeos and how the whole town takes such pride in breaking out their cowboy hats for that one day a year. I find it endearing to watch the people come out of the wood-work to cheer on the local hockey team for EVERY game they play. Apparently, other teams hate coming here to compete because of the insane amount of fans that show up. Imagine if we had the NHL?!

Just over 9000 and the heart of 70 000. I'll never get used to the mullets and terrible fashion. But you gotta admire the heart.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

For everything there is a season

Autumn is in the air. The mornings here in Alberta are crisp and cold. I could see my breath while sipping tea on my deck this morning. The leaves have begun to turn to rich golds and almost crimson reds. Those that were eager for rest have fallen and are already twirling on the ground as I walked around the pond. The seasons are changing. Constantly changing.

For everything there is a season. Everything has it's time we just don't know when that is. I often think about time and western society's obsession with trying to control it. Seems we all want what we can't have. Time will never be controlled, yet we press on with schedules, cell phones, meetings and blackberries. An impossible quest tried with so much determination. Failure always looming as we hear "there simply aren't enough hours in a day anymore".

The amount of time between the sun rise and sets really hasn't changed dramatically. The seasons are divided and the sun warms the Earth the way it has for millions of years. The man in the moon comes out each night to remind us of the promise of beauty each day. The solar and lunar patterns haven't changed....we have.

Whatever happened to taking the time to stop and smell the roses? When did we become so cocky as to think that we will definitely live to see the next sunrise? Why are the meetings and schedules so critically important, but putting off telling a friend you love them is acceptable? The truth is, we can't control time and we can't control mortality.

Confession: The thought of death scares me. The thought of not living while I can is unacceptable.

Did you tell someone that you love them today?

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Airport scenes

Confession: I love airports.

Some of my favourite places are international airports. My love for airports has absolutely nothing to do with planes, or air traffic control, or even the mechanics of aviation. I adore airports because you see real love there.

I get a bit of a high from standing at the arrivals gate and watching as people wait to greet their family, friends, lovers. I wait to see that one couple that just light up when they make eye contact for the first time after being apart. You can't hide that kind of love. It's genuine. The friends who haven't seen each other in ages and are giddy with the excitement of telling all their catch-up stories. The lovers who try everything in their might not to break into a sprint and jump into their partners arms. The families who are shocked by how much the kids have grown in such a short time. It's beautiful.

Some day I hope I find out what it feels like to be the traveller coming home to someone who loves her.

I believe in miracles...

Serendipity.

I'm in Saskatoon. My fourth Canadian city in three days. New cities are always the same. There is an excitement and wonder as you walk the streets and see the sites. New cities are sometimes very lonely places...until serendipity gives you a sign.

Just last night I had a conversation with a dear friend about serendipity. Fate. Fortunate accidents. Right place, right time. Call it what you want. Today, I was walking through the streets of Saskatoon and feeling a little lonely. I turned to corner and heard a beautiful song. A man was playing on the side of the road. He had a hat on the ground in front of him and a copy of the book Field. I couldn't move. I stood and listened as he sang.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CoSL_qayMCc&feature=fvw

When things went pear-shaped with Steve, he sent me an email saying that he was reading the book Field and trying to make sense of what was happening. He loved me but couldn't be with me. Where was the justice or purpose in that? He often sends me a "song of the day" to let me know he is thinking about me. Not long ago, I received an email with the song I heard today. I have no idea why serendipity sent this situation to me today. Maybe it was just to let me know that somewhere out there in this big ol' world, there is a man who once loved me for me. He loved me just the way I am.

Love.

Everyone wants it. If fact, it really is a basic human need. We are social creatures, which is probably to our disadvantage in the 21st century. Society has created an environment of business and technology and a constant hurry to get anywhere (the destination is irrelevant). In our strive to become better, faster and stronger as individuals we have forgotten how to be compassionate, trusting and happy.

What is the measure of happiness? Is it the amount of hours you spend at work? The professional accomplishments? The framed degrees on the wall and line of letters at the end of one's name? I think it is so much more than all of those things. I think that it is so much less complicated than that.

Confession: I lie to myself on a regular basis. It's a terrible habit stemming from a desire for self-preservation.

This blog is supposed to be one of truth. Brutal honesty. So here is what I believe...

I believe that true love exists. I believe that you can love more than one person throughout your life. Love does not guarantee a fairy tale ending. It only guarantees that your heart will swell and possibly break like you never thought was possible. I believe in angels in the streets and signs all around us. It's all right there. The road map to happiness is shown to each and every one of us every day. We just need to open our eyes and hearts and follow the signs. I believe that signs will come around when you least expect and sometimes, they present themselves just to let you know you aren't alone in the world. There is someone out there who loves you.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

September 13, 2009


This is the second blog that I have started to write. Where in the world has been up and running for about four years. My decision to write a second blog was not made because I felt the world was deprived of my writing or my story. My writing is rather poor and my life is nothing exceptional. I have decided to write this blog because through the help of brutal honest, I am finally admitting that I am a runaway. If I had a super power it would be teleportation accompanied by the uncanny ability to keep people at arm’s length. The result of my superpower would be the protection of the all important self-preservation and ultimately a complete lack of faith in others. It’s doubtful that I’d be the hero of my own saga with those powers.

Confession #1: I’m 26 years old and have moved 18 times in the past nine years.

So, why write a blog? I suppose I figure that writing down my truths about why I bolt as often as I do will be therapeutic. Perhaps, admitting is the first step. Maybe, I’ll become more content. Possibly, I’ll stop running and find a home.