doors

i have been thinking about endings.
and beginnings. and everything in between.

vague.

as most things are these days around here.

somewhere between tangible and abstract, i sit.
thoughts emerge and i observe them. but that is it.

i just observe. quite frankly, i am too exhausted to do much more.

among these thoughts...


i love when people find their passion. that thing...whatever it is...that aligns with their soul and they could not be happier. find that thing. find it.

in all storybooks, they end up together. they always do.

who is the protagonist any way?

i wonder what she would say...

i should leave

i should stay

maybe i should be a housewife

maybe my biological clock is ticking

i wonder how one freezes their eggs..

how old am i?

i wonder if it is still socially acceptable to be this lost when i am thirty?

i should leave.


but i don't. i sit on the cusp of something.
hell if i know what it is.

i pull out my yoga mat and i move.
odd connection, no?

i had a teacher that used to say

ease into the pose slowly...like you are opening a door..just peak in..you do not need to walk all the way in...just peak in...then close that door. visit it another day. and you will get farther in.

that is what i do. i open metaphorical doors. doors that enclose my thoughts but i don't dare venture too far.

there is no need to figure out everything all at once. to open the doors too wide. there is no need.

one day at a time will do.

the becoming

"the useless days will add up to something. the shitty waitressing jobs. the hours writing in your journal.  the long meandering walks. the hours reading poetry and story collections and dead people's diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. these things are your becoming"

- sugar

please let it be true.

practicing happiness

you know those days where everything seems so damn right?

days, moments, fleeting seconds where the universe lines up directly with your desires and you feel perfectly fulfilled?
like you could walk off the curb and step into nonexistence and everything would be perfect as it currently is.
there would be no regrets.
no what ifs.
everything is as it should be.

happiness.

sometimes this fleeting intense happiness rushes over me when i am nearly asleep
and i cannot help but kick my feet sporadically in a little happy dance
because right now...at 10:34 p.m.
things are so damn right.

please tell me you know what i mean...

apparently this feeling is like a muscle.
or so they say.
the more you use it, the more pronounced it gets.

....how absolutely delicious is that?

happiness...although fleeting...can be called upon when you truly need it.

boom.
happy.


i quite like that theory.

grateful and, yet,

a degree.

a piece of paper that claims i know something.
i am sure i do.
but what?

to hell with it.

i refused to go to my conovcation
and i refused to buy a frame and place this paper on my wall.
what for?

it would be an outright lie to say that i didn't work hard
countless sleepless nights
edits after edits after edits
that one break down over the bhagavad gita.

it would be a fib to say i am not proud.
i am.
but i am not sure what this paper really means.
for other peers, this paper is responsible for carving out their paths
for me, it is simply a tree that should have stayed a tree.

it does not define me.
it does not decide what my future will be.

i do.

and while this little paper might have some weight in what potentials rest in my future,
it is nothing without me. it seizes to exist without me.


people approach me with nothing but excitement

you are done now, right?!

yup....i suppose i am.

so, now what?

silence.


between follow your dreams and grow up already,
i rest.
i close my eyes, put my feet up and rest.

i think about four years ago,
running on love and sporadic dreams

let's go.
let's hit the road to mexico, buy a goat and never look back.

and he would say

i'll go anywhere as long as you are there

the dream

i dreamt that i was in her home once again
and everything was as it was before we took it all down
and placed it in boxes
and dispersed it all between the family.

the laughter and chatter that was normally around at family functions filled the room
and i found that special place on the couch.
the one i always liked.

and then there she was.
in a hospital gown.
and she said

oh, those pumpkin cookies. those must be old.

and i thought

i will eat them any way. they are all i have left of you. i will eat every last crumb.

but i said

let me do your dishes

and i walked over to the sink, plunged my hands into the warm water and looked out the window placed just above.
when you looked out of this window, you were able to see the grave yard.
and one tombstone in particular. the one that belongs to her husband, my grandpa.

some things are planned.
perfectly so.



i woke up to tears streaming down my face.
and then i felt his hand on my hip and i knew it was okay.

good actors

when i was little all i really wanted to be was an adult.
they really seemed to have a handle on this thing called life.
they really had it together.
evidently...they were really good actors.

no one warned me that life could be such a soul-sucking menace
on the flip side, of course, life is a beautiful, nourishing entity that i feel honoured to live.
but it is a fine line.
at this stage of life, it is a very very fine line.

at 24, i still feel like a child.
unsure, eager and scared shitless.

i digress.

the fire alarm rang out in my friend's apartment building and within minutes, people lined the streets, holding their prized possessions lest they lose everything they have ever had. for some reason, the image was spectacular. neighbours - but really, more like strangers - standing on the dimly lit street, winter woolies hastily wrapped around necks and mittens stuffed in pockets. people holding that one thing they know they could not live without..
a hard drive
a cat
lip chap
a cell phone

i started to think, what would i take? at 24, what do i have?

nothing.

at 24, i have a degree in an obscure program, a couple skeins of wool, a five year track record as a receptionist, a bin of worms and a couple of books.

full circle.
scared shitless.

as much as i am exhausted of this stage of life...i fear i have nothing substantial to show for it.
i turn up empty-handed.
hopeless.
like i played a very long and intense game and, in the end, the screen went dark and the words
please try again
danced across the screen


days like this, i have to remind myself that it won't always be like this.
there will come a time when i may actually be on steady ground.
if only for a few minutes.
all i can hope is that my path will show itself and soon
because, despite it all, i still believe in it.

it..the calmness that signifies you are right in the place at the right time.

i still do.

loving me

someone once said that in our culture, ripe with self-hatred, the biggest rebellion there is, is to love yourself. flaws and all.

i love this....in theory of course. the actual loving myself has been a draining and erratic journey. and, damn it anyway, i am still not at the holy grail. 

but i vowed to. it was that fateful evening when i discovered that my four year old cousin was ashamed of her body. the word fat should not be in her vocabulary and yet, there she was, crying fat.

i was outraged, saddened and determined.

i wrote a letter. it was succinct and went something like this:

dear world,

you want me to hate myself. i won't.

suck it.

love,

brittany

it was adorned with my signature, loopy wiggles and squiggles that meant i was committed.

after all, i knew that if we all continued to hate ourselves, young women would follow suit. 

their power would fall to the way side, it would mean nothing. nothing. unless they truly loved themselves in a way that no one else possibly could.

true to form - i did not have a plan.
although i began to realize that this path to loving myself is inextricably linked to wellness
i don't know why.
i don't know when this became the case.
maybe it was always the case.
but i realized that if i was not taking care of my body...i did not really love my body.

and thus it began.

i would love to report that i stared at myself in the mirror with lovestruck eyes and whispered sweet beautiful nothings to myself.
i did not.
i am not quite there yet.

but i have been spending mornings and evenings and any other minute i can spare to practicing gratitude.
being grateful for my body.
early mornings, i push snooze and reserve the next ten minutes to think these thoughts...

i am thankful for my hips.
i am thankful for my breasts.
i am thankful for my hair.

and it continues until i have acknowledged all my parts in all their imperfect glory.

i have also become more introspective and have began to ask myself the really tough questions..
you know, like,

do i really want that latte?

as it turns out, i do not.
when i drink it, i don't feel well physically.
i feel accomplished...like i have checked something off my to do list...but i do not feel well.
of course there are times i can predict the sluggish aftermath of one too many cookies.
but i do it anyway.
the 90/10 rule, folks.

i feel different. i feel happier. and rumour has it, when you feel happy, you radiate happiness regardless of your dress size.
i vow to pay it forward.

up next: naked dance parties

a candle

i got home and a lit a candle.

one sole candle

this action seems minimal and dismissive
but for me, this act was the beginning.

the beginning of acknowledging my loneliness...

i digress.
the source of this loneliness is known to me and only me
and i intend to keep it so.

but this candle.
it was a symbol.
a way for me to acknowledge myself.
acknowledge this space as my own
and to make damn sure that i knew i was worth it.

i only ever used to light candles when i was expecting visitors.
only then would i adorn my room in dimly lit candles.
on this particular eve, i knew i would be alone. all night.
this did not stop me.

and you know what?
i am beginning to quite like my loneliness.
sometimes it can swallow me up whole.
other times, i observe it.
and then i ask myself what it is that i really want to do.
and i do it.
no questions asked.
no one to ask them.

i quite like this thing - my loneliness - after all.

on being a woman

some time ago, a woman asked me

who is the most important woman in your life?

i thought long and hard. it was a challenge to sort through all the women in my life and decide which one had the most influence over me. and then it was obvious.

my mum, i said, because she has taught me everything i know about being a woman.

this response got me a cocked eyebrow and a somewhat cynical "hm"

i have never stopped fretting about that response.
it was the truth. the absolute truth.

maybe, i think, it is because i used the word woman so loosely.

what does it really mean to be a woman?

hell if i know.

but i do have a good sense of what it means to be a woman in my bloodline.

we are notoriously strong.
capable. and fiercely independant.
yet we walk a fine line of insecurity. constant wondering. constant worrying.

and this is where i found myself.

walking this fine line of capability and strong-willed to speak my mind

but scared shitless of what it would reveal about me.

too much?
i took a breath.
and i said it.

a rock

i held a rock in the palm of my hand.
a rather unusual rock, it was round, smooth, chosen just for this sort of activity.
for some reason, this rock made me feel comfortable. which, in this context, translates into brave.
like i could say what i felt, and the rock would understand.
even if the other 30 people in the room could not.
the rock in the palm of my hand would understand.
maybe this rock would be friend. not foe.
i took a shot.

i start.

i have been thinking...
about the reprecussions of going to someone...a professional someone
and saying the words


i feel fat.


this person might look at me. might wonder what on earth i could be talking about.
they might judge me. they might send me on my way with a diet.
they might want to prescribe me pills.
these are all things i am not interested in. because i feel like it is unnecessary.

nay, it is just wrong.

to tell me it is my problem is to completely deny that it is, in fact, a sociological problem.

in the lowest low, muddled with confusion and frustration, i confided in another woman

i feel weird. like..i'm fat? but...i'm not?

welcome to my life.

and that, that is the exact moment that i understood.
welcome to being a woman in today's society.
surely i knew this before, this delicate balance between fat and too terribly thin.
and how, as a woman, i was supposed to walk this line.
i did. i knew all of this.
but i did not know a spell of self-loathing would sweep me over in the way it did.
and knowing that myself, an advocate for beauty in all forms, had been duped into believing otherwise
was a guilt trip that hit me like a motherfucking freight train.

the rock in my palm, i looked up. and i saw women on the brink of blinking a tear.

aye, they get it.

it was the very same look i had when i discovered that my four year old cousin feels fat.
she is four. and ashamed of her body.
i swallowed back tears. hard. and i silently vouched to change it.
change it all.
i would not play this game.
i would not give in. or give up.
and, someday, young girls everywhere
will love love love this thing we call a body.