Why I Walk and You Should Too

When I tell people I walk long distances as a hobby, form of release, pleasure, etc. it is often met with confused looks. What’s even more interesting is the reply I get when I tell them the number of kilometres I do in a regular walk. “Holy shit!” is a comment I hear on the regular. Why do I walk, you ask? For starters, few things in life are as invigorating or cathartic as getting semi lost, finishing (see: crawling through) your last km of the journey, watching the sun come up in Port Credit and waiting for Sunset Grill to open so I can have 6 am pancakes and home fries and reflect on what just occurred (sometimes even I ask, "Did you really need to do that ol' girl?"). Yes, when you are a walking enthusiast, this is bless. Sheer, unadulterated bless. Without further ado, why I walk and perhaps why you should too. 

1. It clears your mind, reprograms your internal energy and balances your mood.
 
If you know me personally I think you will agree that I very seldom stay in a bad mood (although when I do its one for the books but that's a different blog post altogether). The only difference between me and somebody who is consistently in a bad mood is that I walk off my bad moods. Walking has and remains the most inexpensive, healthiest and best form of medicine/therapy I have ever found and believe me, I’ve dabbled. A drink to ease my anxiety about work. Result: Still waking up feeling unbalanced the next morning and the worst part, I am too hungover to be productive. A line to make me forget him. Result: still going to sleep thinking of him. A 4 hour walk along Lakeshore with me, myself and Woods of Ypres? Always does the trick. I'm not saying walks solve problems but do I find myself more clear-headed and ready to deal with issues after a long walk? You betcha.

2. It’s a form of exercise.
 
I’ll admit it, long-distance walking started off as a vain quest for tight glutes (one can dream) but is now something that benefits me on many levels. After a long walk my head feels undeniably less cluttered, I am refocused and I can eat a whole slice of Amico's Pizza homemade cheesecake the next day without a snippet of guilt. One should never feel guilty about eating cheesecake but be honest, how much will you enjoy that decadent and fluffy slice of heaven if you walked 25 KM the day before?

Did you also know that the good people at Harvard Men's Health Watch correlated 30 minutes of daily brisk walking to adding several years to one's life? Walking, you just cant go wrong.

3. You get to see Toronto in a way you never have before.
 
I’m a late night walker as in my walking time of choice is 8 pm to 6 am. With that said, the feeling of walking on a typically busy street and not running into a single person nor seeing a passing car for hours is kinda indescribable and unheard of in this city during the day. Besides, discovering a new neighbourhood by foot is more interesting than by car or public transportation.

Not a soul in sight...

4. You get to know you, yourself and I.

To be completely alone with your own thoughts (Lana Del Rey on repeat singing in my headphones does not count) really puts things in perspective. When was the last time you spent a good 7 hours with no texts (sending or receiving), no Facebook but just your own thoughts, the motion of you walking and your home city as your only companion? It’s been a while? Better get to walking. 

5. Bragging rights, out of the ordinary Facebook statuses and unique sunset/sunrise pictures.
 
I don’t walk for any of those three reasons but I will not deny that they come as perks with being a walking enthusiast. Besides, why do mundane things? Why walk an average amount? Why not push yourself (body and mind) to the fullest? 

139 Lakeshore Road East, Mississauga; watching the sun come up after a 23 KM walk from Yonge and Bloor. May 2014.

 

Arriving somewhere surreal after a 25 KM walk, January 2012.

The reason I walk is because I simply cannot not walk. I need to, for my sanity, for my health and for those new pair of short shorts I bought while being delusional about an upcoming milestone birthday.

Port Credit Lighthouse, May 2014.

Above all though, if (long distance) walking as a hobby is something that is of interest to you then the time to get started, to get moving, to get walking is today. If you have rolled your eyes several times throughout this piece and still keep thinking, “Why would I walk? That’s why we have cars and public transportation, so we don’t have to walk. Sounds like a lot of wasted time”, to you I say: on some level you are right but you have not experienced exploring the city all by your lonesome, have not heard a single passing car for 2 hours, came home with aching hamstrings and couldn’t wait to do it all over again. Make no mistake though, I’m not advocating for you to start with a goal of walking 20 KM right from the get go. Years ago 5 KM was an achievement for me. Listen to your body, do what feels comfortable to you but also push yourself. If you won’t, who else will?

Confessions of an Ex-Groupie Wannabe/Current Music Fanatic

Growing up a Guns N' Roses and 80s metal obsessed teenager in the suburbs of North York was hard. Not because there were no concert venues nearby or that my beloved Queen West was a somewhat trek away, but because nobody I knew listened to the same music I did. Simply put, metalheads didn’t go to Northview and the closest I got to some were Ryan and Jason who listened to Limp Bizkit and the Chinese kid who humored me and allowed me to go on and on about how Chinese Democracy was going to come out one day (Oh, and it did). Yeah, life was hard but what made it just a little bit easier was the belief and the dream that I would grow up, become of legal age and spend every weekend at concert venues I wasn’t allowed to go ten feet near. Hitting up shows at the Opera House, being a regular at the Kathedral, that was gonna be me. Another fantasy was exploring romantic waters with musicians. I don’t mean to sound cliché but when I was younger, if you had long hair, tattoos, were carrying a guitar case and had a “fuck off, world" vibe to you, I wanted to know you. Everyone has a type and tattooed musicians were mine. As a teenager I’d watch the dynamic between Axl Rose and Stephanie Seymour in November Rain or Don’t Cry and wanted that. Same goes with Tawny Kitaen and David Coverdale. I wanted to be that girl. I wanted to get my very own rock star and if he wanted to make a video with me dancing and posing on the hood of a Jaguar, hey, I wouldn’t stop him. Backstage passes, me doing bad things to tattooed bodies and Jager shots, yes folks, these are the priorities and dreams of a teenage girl. It was all going to be so beautiful. I’d escape the suburbs of North York and my life would be the real life version of Almost Famous (minus of course the time Kate Hudson’s character takes a bottle of pills and tries to kill herself when her musician lover goes back to his wife).

At around 19-20, when a lot of my friends were choosing their first year programs at university and I was planning my big escape (somewhere hot and tattooed musician plentiful) I asked myself, “Do I really wanna become that girl right now? Maybe I should try out the whole university thing first? Hey, I can always be a part-time groupie.” And so I did just that. I enrolled in a 4 year Political Science B.A. program at York University and my groupie dreams were put on the shelf, next to my collection of Rolling Stone and Spin magazines and my very own copy of Pamela Des Barres' "I'm With The Band." I did first year and second year and during third year my groupie dream still had not subsided. As someone who doesn’t believe in suppressing any urge, I decided that I needed to live out my groupie dream once and for all. Luckily for me a friend of mine had his own promotion company and coincidentally was looking for a ticket girl. It’s like it was meant to be, I thought and it kinda was. I remember the first ever concert I decided I was gonna go home with the lead singer of the headline band. I was surprised how easy it all was. He introduced himself to me, he flirted with me and when he dedicated the last song to me I thought, “This is your chance, ol' girl”. To make a long story short, we ended up in the hotel room he was staying at with the rest of his band mates in the next suite and everything was going as my teenage self had planned. There was just one problem, there was a jolt of hesitation running through me that I desperately tried to suppress as he kept on kissing me. Is this really what I want? How come this doesn’t feel right? I just met the guy. If my mother could see me now. All these thoughts went through my head over and over and like a somewhat shock to my body, it was then I realized, I could never be a groupie. Why? Looks alone and a talent to play music was not enough for me. Simple as that. 

With such an epiphany came a whole new outlook and a series of questions I still sometimes do not have the answers to. The first one is no doubt, why are women so attracted to musicians in the first place? For me it’s the mutual love of music. I live for music, whether it’s buying CDs/tapes (yes, I still collect tapes), copping a concert tee or shelling out a week's pay for a live experience. Personally, I get the shakes if I don't see live music for two weeks. So of course the moment I meet a musician I think there is a potential bond over our mutual love for music. Sometimes there is and sometimes there isn't. 

Def Leppard, Molson Amphitheatre, 2011

I also have this other theory that women will be in a room of 4 guys, 3 of them are ready to date her and the one guy who is kinda, sorta interested will be the one she’ll be pinning for. In other words, the aura of the unavailable, too busy for you, “You expect me to remember Valentines? Sweetheart, I only remember gig days”, musician is kinda irresistible to most girls. Maybe deep inside every girl wants to tame somebody; wants to be the one who made him “settle down”. Hey, if Aunt Becky was successful with mullet sportin', rock club playing Uncle Jesse then why can’t I?

As mentioned though, the initial reasons for wanting to chase musicians was a bit different. I think at the core, I gravitate towards the unusual, the unordinary; maybe even a bit dangerous but the mutual love for music has to be there. If we meet and you know more Guns N' Roses trivia than I do, babe, it’s on.

With that said, since I spent so much of my youth idolizing both rock stars and the groupies who love them, I was inherently interested with the premiere of the Ex-Wives of Rock. If you are unfamiliar with it, let me bring you up to speed. The Ex-Wives of Rock is a show centered around 4 women who were previously married to well known musicians; Bobby Brown to the late Jani Lane, Athena Lee to James Kottack, Sharise Neil to Vince Neil and Susan Dixon to Jerry Dixon. I wish I can say all the women are still happily married or at the very least thriving but that’s not the case. Bobby (the 90s Cherry Pie video vixen every wannabe groupie still idolizes) is living in a one bedroom apartment and has her upcoming memoir about how it felt being a groupie as her only source of income. Of course, the lives of these four women are not the definitive representation of how every wannabe groupie ended up. I’m sure somewhere far away there is rock star and groupie duo who just celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary and don't have a long history of extramarital affairs. I'm sure they exist, I just cant think of any at the moment. 

If the ghost of groupies past has taught me anything, it’s that if you are going to focus and idolize anyone, make sure it's your own self. This is not me advocating for one to be self-absorbed but rather what I’m trying to say is, you can't depend on anyone other than yourself. The only person who will always have your best interest at heart is yourself. The only person who will take you from point A to point K is yourself. Sure, if you say all the right things somebody can do that for you but you are the only person who can keep yourself there. Of course you can fall in love and be the small percentage of people who makes it but anything you have with somebody else should be built on a solid foundation of the self, first and foremost. Besides, how the hell are you going to get anything accomplished if your whole life involves either waiting for sound check to finish or partying it up in the VIP area?  Sounds like a lot of effort and time just to say, "Guess who I met/partied with?"

At the end of the day (and if you are a regular reader you know this) I say, to each their own. Wanna sleep with musicians for bragging rights? Go for it, girl, I ain't mad at ya. I just wonder where would I be if my teenage plan came into fruitation; if I actually moved God knows where and chased God knows who. Maybe I'd have some wicked stories to share but the fact is, I still have some wicked stories to share, I've seen every group that was on my teenage bucket list (yes, including Guns N' Roses), I have met many musicians and I did all this while still keeping (most) of my morals intact. 

I’ll admit it, I’m still fascinated by the whole rocknrolla lifestyle but am I willing to shell out my body to whoever is interested just to be apart of that world? No, I’m not. Am I also willing to spend hours waiting outside hotel rooms and begging roadies for a glimpse of someone? Sorry, not this wannabe groupie. If it means I only watch the whole thing from afar, well then, so be it. I actually still cringe when I see episodes of Rock of Love with Brett Michaels. Not because it’s utterly vulgar and half of the women only have their GED but because it stereotypes every single groupie as dumb and simple. It's like they are all willing to give it up just because of a person’s celebrity or music scene cred. I will never be that girl. 

Don’t get it twisted though, if there is a type, long hair, tattooed and guitar case in hand is still mine but do I think women should sleep with men for the sake of all those things? Hell to the no. To get in my leather pants, yes, long hair and tattoos helps but character will be the deciding factor. I also don’t think women should define their lives on who they have bedded and the social status of that person. I don’t care if he’s the lead singer in one band and drums in another, if there’s no connection or chemistry, what’s the point? Another notch in my belt just to say I did? Nah, so much more better things to do, books to read and blog posts to write. 

Helix, Horseshoe Tavern, 2006.

What I am advocating is being your own rock star and focusing foremost on yourself and getting your life to the next level. What are your dreams in this whole boy crazy, rock star chasing tsunami? Where do you wanna be in 5, 10, 15 years? Why are you riding someone else’s coattails when your very own chariot awaits? Those are the questions I wanna ask but refrain when I see a new crop of 19 year old groupies on the scene. Maybe they are how I was, in love with the music, intoxicated by the whole vibe of the Toronto music/concert scene and all those other things that make most of us happily hand over our last $20 for a live show. Maybe they think if they get a piece of the lead singer then they’ll be that much closer to everything. Maybe you will and maybe you won’t. For those wondering if this is an anti-groupie, pro-celibacy or neofeminist piece. Please, know, it’s none of those things. It’s a simple, do you, girl, piece. The world is your oyster, you are the rock star and home band of your life and everyone you meet is simply a visiting opening act.

Facebook Etiquette, Trolling and Top 10 Ways We Can Make The Book Read Worthy Again.

Ever had a day of reminiscing about your old junior high school days because of a “throwback thursday” picture you last saw floating around on ICQ in 1999? I have. Ever got told about a show you would have never known about had you not used Facebook? Been there, done that. Ever had your day completely turned around by a really gushy comment on how photogenic you looked in your new profile pic? Great feeling, ain’t it? With that said, I will be the first one to admit that Facebook has more benefits than disadvantages and (if used thoughtfully) will cause more smiles than frowns but if that is true why are an increasing amount of people deactivating their account and never looking back? Do these people belong to the anti-social group that does not get off on “likes”? Do they seriously not want their friends to know (with photographic proof of course) the amazing meal they just finished at Morton’s? What’s the deal because if Facebook is all that it's cracked up to be then why are people putting down The Book and burning their library card altogether? I cannot speak for everyone but the majority of people I have talked to have logged off because certain experiences have left such a bitter taste in their mouth that they left their meal midway, paid their bill, wrote a bad review on Yelp and never ever looked back. The conversations I had with people on why they left all share a common theme and that is a lack of thoughtfulness among Facebook users. I get it, you can’t actually see me when you insult me and so there is a certain level of chutzpah to you that goes out the window once you are face to face with me. With that said, I present to you my 10 ways that Facebook can be improved.

1. Respect other people’s privacy.

I’ve always found it quite amazing how concerned Facebook users are about their own privacy but are completely oblivious (or just don’t care) when it comes to other people’s. Spotting a girl with a really low cut dress who has been blessed with ample assets and making a comment to one of your friends about it is fine. I mean seriously, why do you think she wore it, so you boys can talk about her among each other. Taking a picture of her with “greattits” as the hashtag? Not so much. Respect the fact that some people may not want their face or body plastered on the internet. If you get your panties in a bunch over the thought of your party pictures appearing somewhere other than where you intended to post them, well then shouldn’t you have that same passion and respect for other people’s privacy?

2. Self- promote intelligently. 

Do not feel bad about promoting your band, your new cookbook or your growing vintage clothing store on Etsy but do it in a way where you leave people wanting more. Think of a great first date. You are encouraged to open up but shouldn’t you do it in a way where they are left wanting more? You are allowed, repeat you are allowed to promote your band, your song and your blog because shameless self promotion and advertisement is why we are all here but make sure it is done without the bombardment of constant messages and requests for “likes”.   

3. Treat commenting on statuses, pictures and event invites as if you are visiting someone’s home.

Facebook never did have a word limit for commenting on statuses and the result is a desire to write long comments that may or may not come off as lectures. I know the action itself is tempting but like someone once told me, commenting on something is much like visiting somebody’s home. Be respectful, courteous and above all, do not overstay your welcome. Also, be mindful of whose home you are visiting. Not taking your shoes off and walking around with a beer in your hand is cool at your buddy’s house but would you do that when visiting your parents?

4. Don’t be a "Wall Nagger". 

There are people who for some reason or other do not use private messages and will post every video and comment directly on your Wall. Please don’t do that. Also, just because you see when mutual friends post on each other people's wall, that doesn’t mean that is your invitation to chime in. Be mindful when two people are having a conversation on a Wall. Just because you see it doesn’t mean your 2 cents are needed.  Also, don’t assume you know the nature of the relationship of two people. If you see someone commenting on someone’s wall with something you find as derogatory, perhaps it's done intentionally because there is a hilarious back story. Some people have a sarcastic banter that defines their friendship, respect that. If it’s not addressed to you personally it’s not for you.

5. Let exes be. 

This is a hard one because God knows we’ve all been there. It can get so tempting to creep your ex and/or their new boyfriend or girlfriend but that can really suck you into an unpleasant abyss of jealousy, bitterness and regret. You guys broke up for a reason. Remember, the more time you spend creeping their profile, the less time you are devoting to your own life. Let him or her go, seriously.

6. Don't be jealous of anyone on your friends list. 

There is this myth that your pictures and statuses are the real you and though they represent some aspects of you they are not the definitive representation of a person or their lifestyle. Remember, profile pictures (all cheerful and smiley) are not always an indication of how we truly feel in our real lives. The most social Facebook user hasn’t left her home in 2 weeks and the person with the 112 likes on their new FB profile pic doesn’t know half of the people on their list. My favourite though is the person who has clicked “attending” to 4 events over the weekend and when asked how they were they reply with, “Nah, just stayed in.” True story, folks. Things are not as they seem, never forget that.

7. Be provocative and opinionated but don’t start drama where there isn’t any.

Trolling is an interesting term because on some levels I think it is used too loosely in reference to somebody who merely expresses themselves to the fullest. Isn’t commentary the very essence of Facebook? It is but there is a fine line between being somebody who expresses themselves and somebody who comments in a way that hints that the other person is a moron. Call me over-analytical but before I post I ask myself two questions: 1. Will this be utterly offensive? and 2. How well do I know the person? If its somebody I see and party with regularly then its fine to throw in a sarcastic dig here and there because chances are we will see each Friday and laugh about it but be careful about how you comment on threads to people you do not know very well. Remember, (and I had to learn this one too) a status is not always an invitation for a debate. Sometimes it is merely an expression of how they feel and your (unintentional and well meaning) two cents are redundant. And if you are gonna debate then make sure it is done so in a way that the other person does not feel attacked. On that note, whatever happened to seeing a status that really rubs you the wrong way and messaging someone quietly and privately? No big fuss or public shaming, just politely letting them know why you (and maybe others) may have been offended by such a status.

8. Don’t openly insult people by name. 

Openly and carelessly criticizing people by name or hinting at a certain person makes you look like a passive aggressive teenager who just got ICQ and needs to tell the whole world how much they have been hurt. It wasn’t cool then and it’s certainly not cool now. Besides, ever heard of defamation of character? Well, that shit’s real. Don’t believe me just Google the words, Courtney Love, libel and Twitter and see what comes up. 

9. Curb the graphic and disturbing images you think will mean well. 

Yes, sharing graphic images of animals being slaughtered with the intent of spreading awareness for PETA is honourable but you need to understand that people have varying degrees of sensitivity and tolerance. Same goes with people who post pictures of blown up heads for some kind of PSA for “Stop the Violence”. As someone on your Facebook list, I should have a choice whether or not I want to be exposed to (real life) gore but once you publicly share that photo it slips faster into my Newsfeed than you can say, “unfollow”. 

10. Be good to each other. 

Such a simple yet complicated mantra, right? Being nice to people you don’t see regularly but know what they ate the day before. To me Facebook should be a place of enjoyment. Like one of those softly-cushioned blown up playhouses where you run into things but it doesn’t hurt when you actually collide with something; it’s just purely enjoyment. No comment should ruin someone’s day. EVER. Let Facebook be a place where people do not have anxiety about logging in but rather continue to see it as a place of enjoyment and above all, inclusion rather than exclusion. Let’s celebrate each other, not bash and annoy.

At this moment you are probably saying, “I don’t get this chick, her last post was called, The Shards of Being the Overly Expressive Girl, and now she is telling me to censor my commentary? Who are you, girl?, and my response is this: yes, I am the overly expressive girl who doesn’t believe in “swept under the rug” kind of friendships but to deliberately attack another human being with words seen on a computer screen is hardly ever justified. If somebody posts something you really find offensive, respond to them privately and discreetly. Don’t make a spectacle and get other parties involved. The truth is, a lot of people are deactivating their account because the experience of Facebook is no longer fun and is becoming saturated in anxiety and negative comments. People are getting off the wild ride that is Facebook, don’t be the reason they are. 

The Shards of Being the Overly Expressive Girl

“Better to be slapped with the truth than be kissed by a lie.”

“An entirely open soul is just as inappropriate as an open fly.”

I once heard two contradicting Russian proverbs and liked both equally. The first one states that in life it is better to be taken back and be in a temporary state of shell shock by news that is nonetheless honest than be told things that remind you of a sweet, spring kiss that you find out later never truly existed; when you open your eyes you see that the moment was all in your head; the kiss, the feeling, simply never was.

The second quote draws attention to being discreet and using self-restraint when wanting to orchestrate a proverbial parade titled, “This is how I really feel.” It urges you not to. Don’t be fully honest and express exactly how you feel. Rather, keep them guessing, leave things up to their imagination. Do not divulge everything.

Yes, it is these two quotes that float through my head when I am in situation where I want to be the U.S., the person(s) facing me the people of Vietnam and I want to drop truth bombs like its 1968. In other words, when I have an abundant need to express exactly how I feel; expected gasps, possible tears, hurt feelings and all. I wish I could say I usually prescribe to the latter quote but that would be a lie because the truth is, I have a somewhat abnormal need to tell people exactly what I think and feel at all costs (gasps, possible tears and hurt feelings be damned). Before you start applauding and praising me for being the small percentage of people who lets it all come out, let me stop you and tell you that this is not particularly a character gift; still not sure if it’s something I was born with or developed throughout the years. My need to be overly expressive has burned more bridges than it has built, has caused more break-ups than hook-ups and have made me hear, “Whoa man, this is unexpected”, more times than I can count. Sometimes I feel like I am a truth fountain, realness pouring out of me but nobody is thirsty that day. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I am the overly expressive girl. Ready to dish it out and take it anytime of the day, morning or night, library or house party, tired or on a full night’s rest, dontcha worry, I just paused to catch my breath, there is always a comeback coming your way. Yup, I’m ready to tell it exactly how I think it is, whenever the urge arises.

As much as I think my longing to say what’s on my mind and in my heart is a refreshing change to the tight-lipped, smile in your face but wish you the worst when you leave percentage of people that dominate this planet, I have always been made to feel that this trait is a hindrance, a personality flaw if you feel. My own personal lethal weapon of mass destruction that has ravaged neighbourhoods and created truth floods of destruction. A chip in the motherboard that needs to be reprogrammed STAT. “For the love of God, remove the overly expressive chip and replace it with something more user friendly”, I could just hear some people say. 

The way I see it, a “truth sit-down”, as I like to call it, can be like one of those magic carpet rides. Yes, at times nauseating, unpredictable, will probably have you regretting you agreed to this once it starts up and even plain scary if you are a first time rider but at the end, like every horrifying roller coaster I dreaded going on as a child at Canada’s Wonderland, after its done chances are you will be relieved you had the guts to go through with it.

Why am I like this you ask? Why do I have a need to tell people how I feel and “hash things out” till I and they have nothing more to say? Do I think something physically horrible will happen if I keep things inside (there's actually a good amount of research that shows that there is a direct correlation between people who don't express themselves and weak immune systems but that's another post altogether)? Yes. Do I have too much time on my hands? Sometimes. Do I fear having friendships and relationships that are saturated in so much self-resentment from years of both people not expressing how they feel that they now have almost zero chance of ever surviving and ultimately will be categorized as just people I see and party with occasionally (the lack of honesty has turned it superficial)? You betcha. That’s really why I have such an abundant need to self-express, because I have seen too many friendships and relationships end because both people weren’t honest enough and eventually it got to the point where sweeping things under the rug became such a normal response to disregarding tension that when it finally became unbearable to walk on and the rug was lifted, the garbage underneath was just too much and both people walked away altogether. From years of not expressing how you felt there was just too much filth and dirt underneath to ever restore the rug. If you think the moral of the story is to buy a rug big enough to store (see: hide) all your crap, it's not. Rather, what distinguishes genuine friendships, friendships that have metaphorical rugs that are stained and are looking a bit tattered from years of wear and tear but nevertheless have nothing underneath them, from the type of friendships that look picture perfect from the outside but underneath have piles and piles of unresolved shit, is the amount of honesty and transparency that exists between two people.

And so I ask you, who should I continue to be? The overly expressive girl who can’t fathom having anything swept under the rug or do I join the large and increasing by the minute percentage of people who smile, nod, never lose their temper, always save face but very seldom express how they really feel. Maybe its not a myth, maybe some people are just that easy going. Or maybe they just don’t care anymore about anything or anybody. Or maybe they think life is too short to "hash things out" and perhaps they are right but isn't it also too short to hold things in?

And so lies my final question, why do we advocate for truth when deep inside we only want to be presented with our version of the truth? All those parents who wonder why teenagers lie about being sexually active, well, maybe if an admission of such didn’t follow a lecture and punishment, then the need to lie would also be avoided. Maybe if partners in a romantic relationship felt heard (and accepted) by each other there wouldn’t be such a need to hide fetish porn. Maybe then we would not live in a society where so much garbage has been stashed under the rug that we can no longer walk straight. Of course lifting up the carpet and going through the trash actually takes work, time and a really, really big garbage bag but so what? What’s a little manual labour if it means being able to walk straight or look people in the eye and know that you said things you’ve wanted to for a very long time. Besides, why should we tailor (see: compromise and curb) ourselves and our need to express to fit the comfort levels of others? You are respecting their need to not want to listen but are they respecting your need to express?

The irony of being somebody who is overly expressive is that though you are told that you need to change, the same people will still say that they prefer the honest and unfiltered truth over lies. It’s fitting though because who in their right mind would actually admit that they do not want the truth? In my experience however, people only want the truth if it fits their own particular comfort level. In other words, if it’s in line with their preconceived notions of the self, the world and the person bringing them this so-called truth. If it fits their version of the “truth”. If its not, well then I have full right to disregard everything you have said, label it as false/lies and jump back on the dismissive train. And while I’m at it I’m also going label you as confrontational and disregard your metaphor for the clean rug as new-age gibberish. That way, my ego remains intact, I don’t need to deal with anything and all is well in my world. Ah, what a life...

Even though that last line was sarcasm, I still sometimes think it would so much easier (emotionally, time wise, etc.) if I would just wake up tomorrow and started going through life brushing everything aside, disregarding the little voice in my that says, “Hey, this is not cool, say something so this doesn’t happen again” and pretending there is no metaphorical rug altogether. Fortunately (or unfortunately) though, I know better. People do need to be called out when they (repeatedly) screw up, individuals need to express how they see their side of the story and compare it to others and get resolution, and we need to stop living in a society where the need to express is labelled as confrontational. Lets stop walking on wobbly rugs and pretending the surface is flat when you know deep inside it’s not.

Or maybe the secret is really giving people self-expression in increments. Perhaps there is a reason that even die-hard steak lovers prefer a 10 ounce versus a 22 ounce portion. Maybe I need to change my self-proclamation from the “overly expressive girl” to the “overly(ish)" or "somewhat expressive girl”? Or maybe I should just stay the way I am and only welcome people who appreciate my need for “nothing swept under the rug” analogies, friendships and relationships.

Growing up with a little brother meant three things: on any given Saturday morning there was always someone to watch X-Men with, places my friends and I would go to as teenagers depended on whether or not they allowed children and lastly, I grew up being exposed to the glitz, glamour and hot pants that defined the World Wrestling Federation (I never did get used to calling it the WWE). Though I expressed my disdain for having to take my kid brother to, “another Monday Night Raw”, secretly, I loved it. The oiled up bodies of muscle men, the hot girls in latex, and above all, the squeals of die-hard fans (young and old) that filled the ACC could still rival any sold out show at the Opera House. That was how it felt seeing a WWF show in person; exciting, climatic and just plain fun. Never mind that my kid brother was asking me to go get him popcorn during the main match between Chris Jericho and Jeff Hardy and Rob van Dam and Rhyno; I still usually came home giddy. 

Though I considered myself a "closet WWF fan", much like proud fans I too was affected when I'd hear that someone from the mystical world of wrestling was going through something in their life. The way I saw it, I kinda grew up with these men and women and so I'd care if one of them sustained an injury or something unpleasant like that. Such was yesterday, which marked the death of one of the most iconic sportsmen in the history of the WWF, James Brian Hellwig, also known by his stage name, The Ultimate Warrior. This piece can be about his legacy, the millions of (grown up) men and women who continue to see him as a hero or the fact that he was the only wrestler in the history of the company to hold both the WWF Championship and the Intercontinental Championship at the same time, but it's not going to be. I’ll leave that for Wikipedia and the thousands of others who are just about to post (and rightfully so) their version of, “Top 50 Things I Loved and Will Miss About the Ultimate Warrior”. To me personally, his death is a metaphor for how truly valuable all human life is. Not to sound like a cliché new-ager, but his death reminds me once again how insanely grateful I am to be alive; to just simply be alive.

This is not a new thought for me but rather with every passing birthday I become more conscious that living (just living) is pleasure in itself. 20 year-old me got upset by the little things and though I continue to be a self-proclaimed detail oriented perfectionist, there is this increasing appreciation for life that comes with age that unfortunately you just do not have at 20 or even 25. That feeling was accentuated yesterday morning (without me even knowing about the passing of the Ultimate Warrior) when I was in a cab running late for work and the man (annoyed by the passing rain) said to me, “This weather eh, can you believe it?” and I replied with, “Honestly, I’m just happy to be alive. Bad weather and all.” And that’s where I am nowadays. Not entirely 100% (are any of us ever are?) but just happy to still be here; living, breathing, writing my next blog post and planning my next concert outing/adventure.   

If you are mourning the Ultimate Warrior or anybody else who was close to you, I say, mourn, give yourself time to process that you wont be able to see them in the physical form for a while but do not let your sadness overshadow what you could be doing. That is, celebrating them, their life and the fact that they were here with you at one moment in time. Try to overcome the resentment you want to deflect back into the universe while asking, “He is gone at 54? How is that fair?!”, but rather accept that some people are just meant to move on to the next phase of their life earlier than others. Am I sounding like one of those annoying new-age kids yet? Hope not.

And to those who are analyzing the events leading up to his death (his truce with Hulk Hogan and his induction into the WWE Hall of Fame) and in the process asking themselves, “Did he know he was about to go?”, my reply is, perhaps. Maybe he felt it. There is a theory about past lives that seems very logical when you think about and so maybe his "past self" was telling him, "We start the cycle all over again at 54, that’s just our destiny." Maybe that’s why there was such a hunger to achieve so much in such a short amount of time. To leave such a footprint, to inspire such joy when they were here and such sadness when they leave. At the end of the day, isn’t that what it’s all about: inspiring others, investing in people and relationships and doing amazing, outside of the box things with your life? It is for me.

R.I.P. Warrior, Till You Slay Again…

To You, Whoever You Are…

To you…whoever you are…
Sometimes the longing for you is deep, semi-unbearable and
so strong that, “I can feel it in my bones” (ever listen to Metric?). 

My self-talk in regards to you is so sure (no doubt that one day I will meet you). 
But somewhere (really, really) deep inside I fear that I will not. 
Why would I? 
Do I deserve to? 
To think, maybe I will never read you this... 
I fear that my real life (happy ending) Romeo will never come. 
I will never look into your eyes and say, “Wow”.

This fear is very real but don’t make it my reality, beloved and dear stranger. 
Do not let me live a life where I do not meet you; where our paths do not cross; where I make it for a bus I was meant to be late for.
Do not let me live a life without butterflies, skipped heart beats and mornings and nights of lying in bed and feeling so utterly alive.
But above all so grateful that we are together (finally). 
Because the truth is, it’s not the physical.

I need your guidance.
I need your touch.
I need you to fix me (put the pieces back together).
I need your embrace.
I bet some days I will wanna hide in your arms (the world is too cold, can I stay in them forever?)
Hidden, safe, reclusive. 
“The world can't hurt me anymore!”, I’ll say and it will be true.

I need to laugh with you.
Secret world of inside jokes galore that are always on repeat.
Population: 2
I need your warmth (sometimes it feels like its always winter or maybe it truly is?)

Do not let me live here without you. 
Population: 7.15 billion.
I do not want to but above all, I do not think I can.
Live without you, my beloved, and dear stranger. 
Whoever you are…

Missed Connections and Other Bittersweet Actions I Will Never Understand

 
Whenever I looked for sold out concert tickets on Craigslist I almost always took some time and checked out their “Missed Connections” section. If you are unfamiliar with the feature, Wikipedia defines it as a “type of personal advertisement which arises after two people meet but are too shy or otherwise unable to exchange contact details.” I browsed through it from time to time and not because I was somewhere and somebody caught my eye and I wanted to know if I caught theirs too but rather I wanted to see for myself how many adults in my city lacked initiative or the more vulgar description, “the balls” to go talk to a stranger. If you know me in my personal life you know that I don’t get shy easily and not because I don’t have insecurities or never feel intimidated by certain men and women, but rather I know that the stranger (no matter how attractive) I want to talk to across the bar is just another human being and chances are would probably want to talk to me too. Why would he/she want to talk to me? Why wouldn’t he/she want to talk to me? These are the questions I ask myself when the overwhelming anxiety of talking to a stranger starts taking over and a little voice starts saying things like, "Don't move, stay exactly where you are, in the space of familiarity and that oh so warm comfort zone." Often times I silence that voice and when I don't I almost always seem to regret it.

As romantic as many of Toronto's “Missed Connections” stories are, most are bittersweet because how is “the girl in the vintage red skirt with the amazing green eyes and beautiful smile” ever supposed to find her shy admirer? More so when he describes himself as the “tall guy in the grey sweatshirt who was sitting a few seats away from you.”

I also can’t help but think that a lot of the men and women who write these ads are individuals who are so thirsty for that special person that they look for connections and sparks in strangers they see on trains and buses (Why is it usually on buses by the way? Is it because were often times going places we do not care to go to and need a distraction on route?), grocery stores and other places frequented by thousands of people per day. Is the need to find “that person” that big of a priority and a lack thereof such a painful void that we delude ourselves into thinking it was indeed “the girl in the vintage red skirt with the amazing green eyes and beautiful smile” who could have changed everything? If only you actually spoke to her. Are people so disconnected and disillusioned with their real life relationships that they see attractive strangers and fantasize about all the perfect things we would say to them and they to us if only both people actually talked to one another?

See, I do believe that there is such a thing as destiny but it’s only fulfilled when coupled with your actions. It cannot be realized just by itself. It sets the time, place, atmosphere and tone but it is you who must realize when those special moments happen and when people who can shape your future enter into buses, grocery stores and other random places.

Next time you are somewhere and your gut says, “Talk to them”, please, think of me and actually listen to it. What’s the worst that will happen? A five second feeling of rejection and a slight shock to your ego? That doesn’t sound so bad; nothing you won't be able to live through. You know what’s worse? That feeling of the unknown/what could have been, the constant wondering associated with the unfilled action, the self-loathing that can arise when you know you missed an opportunity and let somebody pass you by and the very real memory of a face and the lingering question of, “Why didn't I just talk to her?”