the end

A-hem. I have a bit of an announcement to make.
Apart from a belated Happy New Year, I suppose, to all.

This blog has reached the end.

It's fitting, somehow, that as the new year began, I felt the need for change. For growth. It's fitting that this blog, which saw me through several seasons of life, which allowed me a place to rant and vent and hash out my at-times turbulent thoughts, began at the end of one year and is ending at the beginning of another. It's fitting that this is a milestone: this is my 99th post on this blog.

Want the truth? I lost sight of what it is that I wanted to say when this blog began. Or perhaps it was that I never realized exactly what it was that I wanted to say; that the haphazard, random thoughts I had never really took on any kind of structure. I began to feel guilty for that, somehow, and my words dried up. Literally. I felt, often, that I had nothing to say, and so I started writing about how I had nothing to say, and then apologizing for it. What?

I want to point out that in the years since this blog began, blogging has become extremely popular - everyone and their dog now has a blog. I touched on this in an earlier post, and again, I'm not trying to sound cynical, but I didn't (and still don't) want to become just another blogger posting pictures of everyday life for public sharing and scrutiny. I am in no way hating on those who do, but that is absolutely not why I want to blog, or what I want to blog about, and that's why I've struggled with it so very much in recent months.

Firstly, because privacy is important to me. Much as I love the concept of people reading my words, delving into my thoughts, challenging my ideas, I don't like the notion of people seeing into my personal life. Call me hypocritical, because I'm not going to say I don't enjoy an occasional perusal through the photos of other bloggers, but constant visibility just isn't my thing. Sorry.

Secondly, because I don't like what it can do to people. Let me explain. The amount of time that people spend devoted to their blogs, devoted to seeking the attention and approval of an online community of people they've never met, is kind of repulsive to me. Gone are the days when the intimacy of a one-on-one conversation, or a face-to-face meeting, were the connecting points for relationship. It's personal, too. I have watched friends change. They look for the next blog (or facebook, or twitter, for that matter) photo op rather than enjoying the moment. They spend more time reading about and commenting on the lives of people they've never met than investing time and energy into people they know. You can complain about being too busy to see your friends, but how, then, do you have the time to spend networking with strangers online?

Thirdly, I wanted to find a reason to post. Some meaningful reason that would keep me coming back to write, rather than avoiding it day after day after day. I wanted to find an outlet that spurred inspiration and imagination, rather than the stagnancy and sluggishness I have felt when thinking about blogging of late. Truth be told, every time I've posted over the last few months (and I know it's been rare!) it's felt like a chore, the upkeep of something that I know I want to do in my head, but I'm not feeling in my heart. Not good.

I've thought and prayed about it hard. Trust me.
I'm ridiculously excited, completely inspired.
And no longer lacking challenge.

I hope that any and all of you who have visited this blog will be excited to continue the journey with me. I'm currently working on formatting an entirely new blog here at juliahendrik.blogspot.com, at which point this blog will be found at juliahendrik-beautyforashes.blogspot.com.

I have greatly appreciated your comments, love and support.
Life has been an incredible rollercoaster ride these last few years.
Thank you, with all my heart, for reading along.

*Sneak peek of the new blog header*

Stay tuned for the imagination to improvise, coming soon!

lacking challenge

Hi. I'm alive. I know it's been quiet around here.
Back to language basics for a quick second, before I start this diatribe.

lacking
(verb)
1. to be missing or deficient
2. to be in need of something
(adjective)
1. inadequate in amount or degree
2. nonexistent, absent, missing
(from The Free Online Dictionary)

challenge
(noun)
1. a) a call to engage in a contest, fight, or competition
b) an act or statement of defiance; a call to confrontation
2. a demand for explanation or justification; a calling into question
3. a sentry's call to an unknown party for identification
4. a test of one's abilities or resources in a demanding but stimulating undertaking
5. a claim that a vote is invalid or a voter is unqualified
6. a formal objection to the inclusion of a prospective juror in a jury
(verb)
1. a) to call to engage in a contest, fight, or competition
b) to invite with defiance; dare
2. to take exception to; call into question; dispute
3. to order to halt and be identified, as by a sentry
4. to take formal objection to (a prospective juror)
5. to question the qualifications of (a voter) or validity of (a vote)
6. to have due claim to; call for
7. to summon to action, effort, or use; stimulate
(from The Free Online Dictionary)

I'm going to be honest. This isn't going to be an uppity, happy post. That's not to say that it's going to be overtly negative, either. It's just going to be an honest summation of where I'm at right now, and where I'm at is not necessarily upbeat and positive. It's a little bit bored and frustrated instead.

One of the huge realizations I had when sifting and sorting my thoughts about a month ago (I'll get to them, I promise, but they're not fully hatched yet) is this:

I am really a schedule-oriented, tangible-goal-in-sight person.

Forget the abstract, free-flowing creative self that lives somewhere within and slithers into sight every once in a while, begging for release from the monotony of routine. Forget the tendency I have to fly-by-the-seat-of-my-procrastinating-pants into every deadline I've ever had to meet. Forget that the lure of a book can keep me completely pre-occupied and unavailable to fulfill scheduled plans for an entire weekend, my nose black with ink from the savoury pages in which I've buried it for hours on end. Okay. Forgotten?

At the root of it all, the core of my being, I need something to work towards, something to plan, something to strive for. As content as I am with my life right now, as comfortable and secure and monetarily at ease as things may be, I'm absolutely starving for challenge. This lack - okay, okay, I'm a word nerd, we all know that, but let me phrase it every way I can - this deficiency, this inadequacy, this absence, this need - has absolutely got me into a funk. (If you don't know what that means, ask my dad. He uses that word all the time. I would actually have to look up the definition to properly describe it, but basically I believe that it denotes a really terrible state of mind.)

I've been able to cross a lot of things off the list the last few years.
Recover from identity-shattering divorce? Check.
Become a working woman in a man's world? Check.
Live completely independently for more than a year? Check.
Fall in love and start new life with man of dreams? Check.
Record album of original material? Check.

Full stop. Ummm...now what?

This summer revealed to me just how much I need to be working towards attaining something. Anything, really. Turning 27 was a reality shock in terms of the potential, the danger, of becoming completely swept away in the mundane and ceasing to strive for things. It's easy to come home from work, regardless of the job (and I've temped enough to know that this has nothing to do with work environment and everything to do with mentality) throw in a load of laundry, make some dinner, do the dishes, veg out on the couch watching television while folding the now-dry laundry, make tomorrow's lunch, and suddenly it's bedtime.

Hang on. It's not that I'm saying there's anything wrong with that, especially not when you're doing it in a home you love with a guy you adore. A few years ago, when the goal at hand was simply getting out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other without having a complete meltdown every day, that task list would have seemed insurmountable. I would have crawled back into bed with a cup of hot tea and cried. I'm not lying. I did it every couple of days anyway.

Now, though, that's not enough. I've passed that test. Check. So, too, the test of establishing a healthy relationship, then the even greater test of living with that someone for more than four months without spontaneous combustion of said relationship. Check. I held a corporate job for three years and grew exponentially as a strong, opinionated woman as a result. Check for the job in a world I never would have dreamed I'd thrive. Check again for personal growth.

I've always been terrified, quite frankly, of the ordinary. Yes, there is beauty in simple things. Yes, there is merit to stopping to smell the roses. But every single day from now until forever? Uh-uh. I start to hyperventilate just thinking about it. There are certainly things on the horizon to look forward to, some certainly task-oriented. Planning a wedding (again). Preparing to have kids (not for quite a few years, so hold the horses on that one; J. and I are content to play Auntie and Uncle for quite a while yet). Going back to school (when the bank account is slightly more plump, rather than recovering from emaciation).

In the here and now, though, I'm feeling completely blah. Completely unchallenged, unengaged, untested, unstimulated. Starting another exercise regime will help, certainly, but what comes next? It's a question of setting goals again, and I'm getting the distinct feeling that the exam clock is ticking and I'm sitting here with a blank page, pencil twirling aimlessly in the air.

Maybe I need a vacation. I haven't been away in a couple of years, apart from a couple of days in New York in February and a couple of days in Ottawa in July. It's hard to feel so completely uninspired to do anything, and yet here I am with this gnawing ache that there must be more than this unremarkably workaday life.

I sound like Belle. Song break.

I want much more than this provincial life
I want adventure in this great wide somewhere
I want it more than I can tell
And for once it might be grand
To have someone understand
I want so much more than they've got planned

Belle,
from Beauty and the Beast

Enough. Here's my challenge. Find a challenge. Set a goal.
That's not a challenge just for myself, either. It's for all of us.

If you do take me up on it, please challenge me further by letting me know what your goal is. The free-flowing creative being within me tends to respond better when there's accountability involved. I tend to think that's true for most people.

One more thing. I had to check.
Just in case you're also a curious word nerd:
funk
(noun)
1. a) a state of cowardly fright, a panic
b) a state of severe depression
2. a cowardly, fearful person
(from The Free Online Dictionary)

Have a lovely last day of November!

another year older

Birthday. Again? Really?
Actually, today's birthday was kind of notable.
I turned 27 at 11:27am on 11/10/11. Weird, huh?

Yessiree. It feels like yesterday that I was musing over life; that I was enjoying a lovely ladies night, discussing the future with my besties. Little did we know the changes this year would bring, the growth, the excitement: R. is now living her dream life thousands of miles away in sunny California; L. has had the heart surgery she's been holding her breath and dreading for years and come through the other side with her usual smile firmly in place; while this weekend, in the beautiful home J. and I have since created together, I'm hosting a baby shower for the almost-ready-to-pop E. (and oh my gosh, I'm so excited to be Auntie Julia to this already much-loved munchkin).

No long-winded thoughts today; in fact, this year's post would almost mirror last year's in my state of mind, my contentment in life, with two major differences: firstly, my CD is finished. A copy is sitting on my desk in front of me as I type this, and it's a giant checkmark off the bucket list, if nothing else. Secondly, I've left my little bachelorette pad behind and am now living in the luxury of a gorgeous apartment with the man I love. Other than that? Well, this morning, as he did last year, J. woke me with a kiss. My mom and dad once again called me before 7am to sing Happy Birthday, and yes, it was once again in harmony. Later, dinner with J. tonight out at one of our favourite restaurants, then homemade birthday cake coming from my sisters and my parents will round out a practically perfect day.

And lest you wonder what I might have received for my birthday this year, you have only to walk into our living room to see the massive display on our wall. My thoughtful, secretive J. purchased two paintings I had seriously ogled (visited multiple times, and viewed online even more times afterwards) during our summer browse through Urban Barn. Do I ever love that man. The abstract images of Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower, perfect for our colour scheme and our tastes, were a spectacular surprise. Since you won't all necessarily have the wonderful opportunity to see them in person, voila.

Don't be fooled by the size of these images. Each painting measures 19.5"W x 59"H.
Aren't they fantastic?

Images courtesy of Urban Barn.

Post Edit: I should point out that when I wrote this, the paintings were not currently out of their packaging and up on my wall, and I didn't really examine the images I posted here too closely. Upon further inspection, I believe that these paintings actually represent the Tower of London and the Eiffel Tower. It makes sense.
The iconic towers of England and France, y'know?

sifting and sorting

I'm working again.

I've been working again for over a month, actually, but it hasn't really felt like working until the last couple of weeks. In that time, I've made some huge realizations. I'm still processing, still pondering, still pensively attempting to clarify the muddle of my mind on a myriad topics; but I'm sifting and sorting and eventually, I'll figure out what comes next.

When I do, you can rest assured that I'll share. Most likely with the usual sense of verbosity that permeates basically anything of any consequence that I choose to share in this public domain, when and if I choose to share anything at all.

On a slight tangent, let me just say that it is becoming increasingly less and less appealing (especially since blogs have now seemingly become the equivalent of "Dear Diary, today I went to the mall, and...", the majority of which I have zero desire to read) to blog. Sorry. I didn't start blogging to give a daily update on my life; nor do I need a daily update (with photos! oh yay!) on other people's lives. My journal is very different than my blog, and personally, I'd rather read (or see) something witty, inspirational, challenging; when those posts are buried in the mundane of every day, I tune out.

That was cynical. Oh well.

I'm getting older. I know this because I'm getting more cynical (although when it comes to online social networking up the wazoo, I think I've always been pretty darn cynical). I know this because I'm thinking about the future a lot more than I used to; thinking about where I want to be, who I want to be. I'm thinking about the people I want surrounding me, supporting me. I'm thinking about the career I want to pursue (please note that I said career, not job). I'm thinking about where I want to live, how I want to raise children, whom I want speaking into the lives of those children. I'm thinking about how amazing it's going to be to actually spend the rest of my life with someone; not just making a promise of empty words, but making a commitment that, come hell or high water, will last a lifetime.

I'm thinking an awful lot.
I wouldn't have things any other way.

home sweet home

I woke up twice during the night, straining to hear the soft sounds of waves lapping along the shoreline, their soothing swells lulling me back into sleepy slumber; to hear the wind rustling through the trees, their branches ever-so-gently stroking the bedroom windowpanes in a midnight caress.

It was disorienting to hear the sound of cars whizzing down our busy street.

We have returned from the cottage. Another perfectly magical trip, this time lasting almost a full week. Initially, we were joined for the weekend by J.'s sister. What an amazing bonding experience it was for all three of us, filled with hours of laughter, innumerable stories, delicious meals and constantly replenished drinks. It's a rare occurrence to have adult siblings be able to spend that much concentrated time together. It was a privilege for me to witness their closeness and their genuine affection for each other; and to feel without a doubt absolute affirmation in my role as an integral part of their lives both now and in the future.

To give but one example of the fun we had: by 4:30am on Sunday morning, J. was asleep on the living room carpet while A. and I bravely ventured down to the dock for belated midnight patrol* just as a huge thunderstorm began. Bearing a single flashlight, a twice-extinguished citronella candle and several towels with which to wrap ourselves, we managed to make our down the rocky embankment, brave the waves for a 10-second dip, and run back up to to the cottage. J. had slept right through it, and when we kindly woke him from the floor to get him into bed, he didn't believe it. In fact, he was so incredulous that he decided it was worth an individual interrogation of each of us: what time did we leave? what time did we get back? who held the flashlight? who jumped in first? how long were we actually in the water? what did we talk about? It was hysterical.

*Cottage tradition dictates that, apart from the usual mid-afternoon, sun-high-in-the-sky swim that is a fairly standard part of cottage life, the following swim times must also take place, rain or shine:
dawn patrol: morning swim, occurring immediately upon waking.
dusk patrol: sunset swim, usually after dinner.
midnight patrol: before-bed swim, in pitch black, requiring flashlights.

After A. left, it was four days of heaven. I know I've mentioned it before, but I continue to be amazed at the easy camaraderie, the effortless rapport that J. and I share. It's pure bliss to spend that much time away with him. We don't get tired of each other, or bored in each others' company. There are rarely harsh words, irritations, disagreements. Instead, there are deep discussions on life and love and the future. Slow dancing barefoot in the moonlight-bathed living room after dinner one night. Falling asleep to the sound of rain, curled up together on the couch. Lying lazily in bed until noon one cold morning, watching the sun play hide-and-seek with the clouds outside. Skinny dipping in broad daylight for the thrill of it, even with no one around.

I won't lie - it was hard to leave. Harder still because there's the possibility that J.'s cottage will be sold this year, and that might have been our last time there. We each had our moment before we left yesterday afternoon; for J., his memories date from childhood: family vacations, great party weekends, a getaway spot for good friends, and now, most recently, an intimate retreat for the two of us each of the last three summers. For me, it marks a place where I have truly learned to love, learned to trust, learned to be comfortable in my own skin, and learned to unequivocally accept my life and relish with gratefulness every second that I have.

Tears banished, we returned home last night. Home. To our apartment, our home. Walking through the door, laden with all of our bags and blankets and boxes, we grinned as we looked around at this amazing place we've created together.

Maybe it's traffic noise we hear at night, not chirping crickets and the cadence of cresting waves. But it's still the same wonderful J. I curl up next to; J., who, with his gentle arms and thoughtful words, has made home the very best place to be.
He is my home sweet home. No matter where that is.

I thought I would finally dare to post a photo.
This is my J. Isn't he just scrumptious?

J. and I, relaxed and happy at the cottage.

summer days, drifting away

It smells like autumn outside. The dense, humid, hard-to-breathe air that slowly permeated then completely saturated the city throughout June and July is lifting; replaced by cooler breezes and crisp leaves starting to float down from the trees, the summer is ever-so-subtly fading into fall.

Dear Lord, do I ever need this season to change.

I needed a break this year. True. I needed time to regroup, to refocus, to relax and recharge. I have certainly spent the last few months doing exactly that, especially the past six weeks. In the month of August alone I have read ten sizable books, and that's not even counting the two separate occasions I went into the library with a coffee, needing a change in scenery from my apartment, and read an entire paperback in a couple of hours. Yes, I read inordinately quickly. Yes, I sometimes (often) use reading as an escape from real life. (It's better than the brain-drain of television, and I will staunchly defend that to the bitter end.)

But why no blogging, you ask? Why no revelatory monologues on what I'm learning, how I'm growing, who I'm becoming? Why no daily updates, with all this new-found time? Well. Remember a few months back when I was complaining of being busy?

Here, let me refresh your memory.
"The past couple of weeks (months?) have been pretty crazy. I find myself saying that more often than not, to the point where it's no longer a valid excuse.

I'm busy.
But I'm always busy.

So what? It's no excuse at all. When you want to make time, you do.
Or else you let things slide and let the 'busy' excuse dictate your life."

Let me revise that for you just slightly now.
The past couple of weeks (months?) have been pretty tedious. I find myself saying that more often than not, to the point where it's no longer a valid excuse.

I'm bored.
But I'm always bored.

So what? It's no excuse at all. When you want to make time, you do.
Or else you let things slide, let the days pass by, and let 'boredom' dictate your life.

And that is kind of where I'm at now. I have nothing very interesting to say, these days, and I'm keeping the world at arm's length as a result. J. gets the brunt of my boredom-induced banality, and things are certainly sliding, days are perpetually passing me by, and boredom is definitely my daily dictator. Sheesh, am I ever a bad homebody, and I can only exercise so much daily before my body protests, stiff and sore for the next day's workout. It gets irksome to answer the innocently-intended "so, what's new with you this summer?" with the same answer every single time.

Nothing.
Nothing is new. Nothing is exciting.
I'm so freaking bored I could cry.

I know it's a season, and long, lazy summer days with every weekend spent at the cottage is hardly something to complain about. I'm not this person, though, and while summer started off lovely and languorous, it's getting harder and harder to pretend I'm still enjoying it. I'm not a bump-on-a-log-watching-the-world-pass-by kind of a person. I need to be in the thick of things, need to feel like I have somewhere to go and something to do at all times. When I don't, I don't even want to be social. It's too hard to hear about other people's busy lives. Twisted, huh?

The tiresome task of job-hunting is a necessary evil, and seems to be torturing me with its agonizingly, painstakingly gradual process. Even if slow-and-steady is what ultimately wins the race, I'm feeling the need for instant gratification here and now. My creativity is crying. My sanity is screaming. My bank account is bawling.
I am so done with this season.

However, I'm still looking forward to one last week away. Our annual super-extended long weekend up at J.'s cottage is just around the corner. You can imagine why I'm excited if you remember last year's post-cottage reminiscence. In the past, it's been much-needed down time for both of us...and while J. has been working himself to the bone with 12-hour work days (he left for work before 6:30am this morning, and I won't expect him home until close to 7pm) and definitely needs the break, I just need to get out of the city, off the couch, into nature for a few more days. A prescription for good food, fine wine, long talks, midday strolls and midnight swims with my love is the best kind of boredom therapy.

Oh. And if you want a couple of good books to read this fall, check these out:
Left Neglected by Lisa Genova and Room by Emma Donoghue.

If you do, let me know what you think!

let's just have some fun

On Saturday evening, I discovered yet another reason why I want to still be playing recreational sports into my retirement. It was re-affirmed again tonight.

It was following a fantastic TFC game (J.'s sister and her husband are seasons ticket holders of four seats, and J. and I have the privilege of attending at least a couple of games with them every season), and the four of us had just finished a laughter-filled game of Wits and Wagers at our place (a board game that J. and I bought them for Christmas that combines both trivia and betting strategies) over glasses of Bordeaux wine brought back from their trip to France in July.

We were sitting around discussing the recreational soccer team on which all four of us play, and how it has evolved and changed since it first began six or seven years ago. When J.'s brother-in-law moved to Toronto, he decided to put together a team made up of a group of haphazard friends who had all grown up playing soccer. Playing together once a week allowed them not only to keep fit and continue to play, but also to meet up weekly and stay updated on each others' lives, a tradition that continues to this day - it's still not uncommon for the team to grab some food and drinks after our games on Monday nights, to sit down together and socialize.

The team has certainly evolved over the years. J.'s sister was a welcome asset to the team when they started dating - she's played competitive soccer for most of her life - but as some of the early members got married, changed jobs, moved cities, there have been seasons where even non-athletic girlfriends and wives have been recruited just to have enough bodies to play, keeping the 'friends and family' type of feel. J. and I joined officially last year, once he was able to commit to being there weekly (as a result of living away for both for university and then for work, he was a standby when in town but wasn't able to be a regular member).

Now, as a result of summer vacations and unfortunate injury, the team this summer has at-times expanded to include not only J.'s varsity-soccer-playing best friend, but also one of my beloved M's (who played soccer for most of her childhood) and her extremely athletic husband. Not only have more great players thus been added to the team, but post-game drinks last week at a nearby pub were even more enjoyable: worlds colliding in the best, most natural way. Pretty sure that J.'s sister and my friend's husband G. are now planning for him to visit her high-school classroom to give them a Spanish lesson before a trip to Nicaragua in the spring. Crazy awesome.

It's also been an amazing way for J. and his sister to see each other weekly; and, by virtue of the fact that their significant others are there too, a way for all four of us to be able to get to know each other better. This, in turn, makes the more formal Sunday dinners (like last night at their parents' house!) so much more enjoyable. Similarly, my sister-in-law now plays with both of my sisters on a team in a more competitive women's league, and has said that, soccer aside, the best part for her is being able to see my sisters on a more regular basis.

This soccer team we play on has always maintained the motto that is emblazoned on our custom t-shirts: Let's Just Have Some Fun. That's not to say that it doesn't get competitive; on the field, things get pretty serious and tensions can get high, as to be expected with people who have played soccer for most of their lives. However, off the field, the social aspect of a team consisting of an ever-extending group of friends is pretty irreplaceable. It's for that reason that I hope I'll still have fit, athletic people as friends for years to come; people with whom I can not only get filthy dirty on a rainy Monday night on the field, but people with whom I then can turn around and go for drinks with after the game is over; people whose lives I'm invested in and care about outside of soccer.

Here's hoping they have leagues for seniors.

the ups, the downs, and the in-betweens

Life is changing again, and I feel stranded on the dividing line between what was, what is now and what will be. Not that I'm not enjoying my present, mind you, but I'm struggling with feeling as though I'm lacking purpose in my current daily life.

what was...
An incredible company, with people more like friends than co-workers, now no longer in existence. Just weeks after my CD release party, weeks after the culmination of the sponsorship of my album, the boutique finance firm I was a part of for three years was bought out by a big bank. It was an absolutely mind-blowing realization the day I found out; further evidence of God's always impeccable timing.

Last night, several weeks after the doors closed for the last time at the old shop, there was an unofficial goodbye dinner at a restaurant downtown. These guys know where to go for a good dinner, and buried deep in the basement of this small steakhouse is an extravagant, multi-level wine cellar that had been set up and decorated for our event. Little did I know, when I casually RSVP'd, that this was a three-course, pre-paid, sit-down meal, complete with unlimited wine from that incredible cellar, paid for by the former CEO and some of the senior guys. Thirty of us showed up to talk, laugh, shed a few tears and share a few memories; before dinner, we went around the long table and each told our story of how we'd come to the company, what we'd learned, and our favourite memory. Family dinner, much? Definitely not your typical work story.

Saying goodbye was hard, but not forever. These guys supported me through three of the most transitional years of my life, and I will never, ever forget my time there. As I said my final goodbye to the amazing CEO last night, he gave me a hug, pulled me close and said, "There are a lot of things I was really proud of with this company, but the opportunity we had to provide for you is probably the thing of which I'm most proud. Go for it, Julia." I left in tears. Happy ones, of course, but tears nonetheless. It was just so special.

what is now...
After three months of looking after my grandmother, the call that everyone was waiting for finally came. A private room in the nursing home had become available, and my grandmother moved in this past Monday. It's a bittersweet time for my family, fraught with relief and devastation, but she's where she should be now, with people who can and will care for her 24/7. She's also three rooms down the hall from her sister, and one floor down from her sister-in-law. It's miraculous timing for so many reasons, and the outcome couldn't be more perfect.

It's also meant that this week I'm bereft of purpose or passion. I'm no domestic goddess, let me tell you, nor am I a good homebody. Being at home all day every day this week was a daunting and depressing prospect, and I literally invented "errands" to do (if you count a day of browsing shoe stores at Yorkdale an errand!) to get out of the house every day. I'm grumpy and irritable, and when J. comes home from work late every evening wanting to relax, I'm still high-strung and raring to go. do. anything. The fact that J. and I are currently a couple of weeks into INSANITY, a daily home workout regime that is seriously kicking both of our fairly fit and athletic butts, is a saving grace to get out all that energy every evening. More on that later. Maybe when I have a six-pack to show for it. (I'm not trying that hard, but seriously, my body is changing really quickly whether I want it to or not.)

I know that it isn't forever, and that a long-awaited return to corporate temping is just around the corner (my bank account is already crying, and loudly) but it makes me feel totally boring, totally invisible, totally purposeless. I almost envied my former colleagues last night for needing to go home and set their early-morning alarms to get ready for work today despite the party wrapping up long after midnight...although, arriving home after 1am, I was certainly grateful to sleep in this morning knowing that I didn't have to do the same.

what will be...
Despite my present lethargy about life, I'm extremely excited about what's to come. A few months ago, I talked about doors closing, trapping me into a dark, enclosed space, a long hallway with doors on either end. At the time, it was definitely meant as a negative image. Well, now it feels as though the number of doors has multiplied; there are doors lining the walls of this hallway, doors of all shapes and sizes and colours. Now it feels as though any door I choose could open for me: but oh, how to choose? How to know which door is right? There are so many options that it seems overwhelming...

I'm not feeling very passionate about anything right now (excepting J. of course!) and that's hard. I've never forgotten that the one word my violin teacher used to describe me when I was younger was passionate; very all-or-nothing. I definitely struggle with feeling really enthusiastic or really down-in-the-dumps; really positive or really pessimistic; really motivated or really discouraged. I'm the latter right now. It's ironic, to feel so deflated when there are literally nine hundred odd copies of a record with my face and name all over it sitting in boxes in our dining room, to feel unsure if that's the road I really want to take. If nothing else, it's a giant checkmark off my bucket list, that's for certain.

Now, though, I need to reawaken my desire to succeed, to pursue, to chase after things with focused abandon even if it means tripping over my own feet and falling flat on my face in failure; whatever those things may be. I need to banish the feeling of purposeless, boring invisibility and put myself out there again. I need to figure out which door to choose and rush through it headlong, running forward with the kind of passion that has always defined me.

I'll keep you posted as I determine which door that may be.
Have an amazing long weekend!

this is not goodbye

This morning, one of my very best friends in the whole wide world got on a plane with her rockstar husband and their two gorgeous, mischievous munchkins and left life as they've known it behind. Forever.

New country. New coastline. New life.

I've been dreading it. Over the last couple of years, I have markedly pared down the number of friendships I invest my time and energy in, and this is a massive blow to the cosy little cuccoon of close-knit friends with whom I've surrounded myself, with whom I've been vulnerable and open.

Don't get me wrong: I'm inordinately excited for them. Believe me. And, truthfully, I cannot wait for next year when J. and I are planning to visit, soaking up the sand and sun and the joy of being together again. I cannot wait to see where this journey will take them, to hear all about their crazy adventures, to watch them grow as they step out of all that has been familiar and embrace new challenges daily.

Selfishly, though, I'm in mourning today. Not the loss of a friendship, because that's just not going to happen; particularly not in this day and age where global communication is so incredibly easy. Not the sale of a house I thought of as a refuge, another home; a house where an energetic and inquisitive little boy I am head over heels in love with moved in as a toddler and a little girl whose curly hair and infectious giggle melts my heart was brought home as a baby.

No, as much as I've been both dreading and anticipating the transition, knowing that they are the first of several of my nearest and dearest who are planning to relocate all over the globe in the years to come - what I'm really mourning are the small things. The two minute phone calls just to vent. The ability for a last minute, late night, midweek coffee. The multiple orders of spring rolls for three at only a moment's notice, shared amidst laughter, tears or frustration. The sleepovers. The house swaps.

It's also the mutual realization of just how close we've become. If I look over the last ten years of my life, I realize that there have been few people who have been as close as she has. We became friends literally the minute we met. She spent the night at my house the second day we ever knew each other. We had to set rules, at one point, because we talked on the phone five times a day and needed to learn to give each other some space. We've seen each other through tumultuous times, times of pure bliss and times of utter devastation. We've supported each other through broken engagements, marriages, and divorce; through multiple moves from city to city; through crazily hormonal pregnancy, newborn insanity and the terrible twos. We've had months of not speaking (we're both that stubborn) and arguments over ridiculous nonsense. We've always made up.

Most of all, as years have passed and seasons have changed in our lives, we've always been the voice of reason for one another. We've been truthful, even when it hurts, and we've kept each other accountable through any number of sticky situations. I can't even count the number of times I've heard, "You know I love you, but now I'm going to be brutally honest, okay?" I can't tell you the number of times I've said, "Okay. Just playing devil's advocate here, and I'm not trying to tell you you're wrong, but have you considered this?" I can't tell you how many tears we've shed on each other's shoulders, how many cups of tea we've drunk together, how many prayers we've said for each other.

On Saturday night, following a wonderful, sun-filled day celebrating friends and family, it was time to say goodbye. The last time we would see each other for several months. As we made our way to find a quiet corner, the three of us who have been lifelines for each other held on for dear life as the tears we thought we'd forbidden rolled down our faces. We knew it would be hard; we didn't think it would be that hard.

In the next few months, one of us will be starting her life halfway across the continent; another will be preparing to have a baby; another will be working her way ever closer to happily-ever-after, this time with the promise of forever. Momentous events, to be sure, and as we shed tears for the changes to come, we smiled at the bond we share and the support we will continue to give each other in the weeks, months and years to come.

Bek:
I am grateful for every moment, every memory, good and bad, that we've shared thus far. You've taught me so much about myself, about true friendship, about never giving up. This is not goodbye; this will only be a somewhat longer pause until the next scrapbook gets filled with the photos of our mightily blessed lives. Love you always.

off to Ottawa once again

The last couple of years, J. and I have spent the Canada Day weekend in Ottawa.

If you weren't aware of how momentous this weekend has been in the past, or how excited I've been leading up to it, you can check it out here and here.

I'm looking forward to the fireworks on Parliament Hill, the morning runs along the canal, the early-afternoon roams through the city, the late-afternoon naps, the evening dinners on the town, the midnight drinks on a patio, the daily browse through Byward Market, the never-ending conversation...

I'm not looking forward to the crowds that will be there for Will and Kate.
The wedding was beyond beautiful.
The pandemonium that they cause is nightmarish.

We've already changed our plans to avoid being there today when they touched down, so we're leaving tomorrow and taking Monday off instead of today to still make it a four day weekend. After our morning runs, we will probably hibernate in our hotel in the afternoons to avoid the mass chaos, and emerge at night...which, really, is more than fine by us anyway. We're night owls.

Have a lovely Canada Day holiday, and a fantastic weekend!
I know we will.

recipe for a delicious anniversary

3 extra hours of sleep
2 fresh panini sandwiches
2 iced frappucinos
1 yellow dress
1 potted orchid flower
1 fancy-shmancy restaurant
6 homemade pomegranate martinis

Wake up at 9am. Decide at 9:30am that mornings are for being lazy and cuddling. Climb back into bed and fall asleep until 12:30pm.

Gradually get up, shower, change, and discuss breakfast options. Decide it's too late for breakfast and discuss lunch options. Determine that it's a day to be spoiled and set out for Yorkdale to brunch and browse.

Eat a delicious lunch of 1 portobello pesto panini with mango salad (her) and 1 chicken avocado panini with chick pea salad (him).

Leisurely stroll hand-in-hand through stores. Try on several yellow dresses as requested (her) until the perfect one presents itself. Purchase said dress as gift to wear during upcoming trip to Ottawa (him).

Indulge in book browsing while enjoying 1 iced skinny caramel macchiato (him) and 1 iced skinny white chocolate mocha (her). Sip luxuriously.

Return home to get ready for dinner. Determine that hole-in-the-wall boutique restaurant around the corner deserves the honour. Make reservation for 9:15pm.

Stop for fresh fruit and alcohol in preparation for homemade late-night drinks. Pick out gorgeous new potted orchid flower to mark anniversary.

Enjoy swanky private dinner with complimentary shots, 1 martini (her) and 1 pint of Creemore (him), followed by 1 spicy sausage rigatoni (him) and 1 wild mushroom and spinach gnocchi (her). Skip dessert as a result of being stuffed to the brim.

Head home. Exchange romantic cards, inducing happy tears. Sentimentally reminisce about all the incredible moments that have passed.

Put on movie. Make pomegranate martinis and relax intertwined on couch in candle-lit living room. Drink 3 martinis each and gradually nod off.

Wake up at 3am and finally head off to bed.

Store in memory and savour forever.

Yesterday marked two years of us. It was a delicious day spent simply enjoying each other. I cannot believe now that I ever could have thought there was ever anything or anyone else for me, when this love is just so overwhelmingly perfect.

to my J.

Thank you for every single moment of every single day thus far that you have made my smile wider, my days brighter, my world richer. You are such a huge blessing to me.

I love you, and I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you.

sports addict

"Hi, my name is Julia, and I'm a sports addict." "Hi, Julia."

Phew. I was needing to get that off my chest.

It would seem that my evenings, right now, revolve around the NBA and NHL playoffs. While J. and I haven't completely rescheduled our lives in order to become couch potatoes (there are far too many birthdays, anniversaries, and soccer games in our lives for that!), we have certainly taken advantage of our PVR (Personal Video Recorder: a device that pre-records live television programs and saves them for playback later) during this playoff season.

Seriously. If anyone wonders why we're tired, it's because we're coming home from our evening activities and then starting to watch the games we've recorded...often beginning to watch at 10pm or even later. Okay, okay, a three-hour broadcast is at least an hour of commercials, halftimes, or intermissions, but poor J. is going to his morning meetings bleary-eyed with exhilarated exhaustion. I'm okay on a meagre five hours, but J.? Not so much. At least the games are on alternating nights (doubtlessly co-ordinated that way by the head honchos of the leagues to ensure the viewership of addicts like us).

This morning, having been up watching the NBA finals last night until nearly 1am, we woke up, rolled over, looked at each other sleepily, and exclaimed almost simultaneously, "Dallas won!"

Not "Good morning, sleepyhead."
Not "Hello, lover."
Nope. "Dallas won!"

And wait a second. If my memory serves me correctly, I believe I woke up yesterday morning, opened my eyes, and uttered the words, "8-1. Seriously? 8-1." as my good morning hello. (For those not in the know or who don't really care but are very confused, 8-1 was the ridiculous score of Game #3 of the Stanley Cup hockey finals. A terrible showing by the Canucks.)

It's official, people.
Sports addiction is running rampant in our household.

At least it's both of us. I can't imagine being with a guy who didn't love sports, and the fact that J. and I are both active, fitness-oriented people as well as avid sports fans (not just token sports fans, and yes, there's a difference) is one of the things that has bonded us from the beginning.

I mean, we met playing beach volleyball, after all.
I guess it was meant to be.

it's been a week?

I suppose I should start by saying thanks to all those of you who made it out to the Beautiful Illusions CD release party...wait, was it already a week ago?

Ummm...yeah. Crazy. That's about how I feel when I think about the fact that a week has passed. It was an incredible and terrifying night, and I learned a few things about myself that were extremely insightful. Would you like me to share?

1. So, singing and playing piano simultaneously in front of a room full of people is very different than singing and playing piano in my parents' empty living room. A few times during the first set especially, I looked down at my hands and thought, "uh, what the heck am I playing?!" as I blundered through a few bars at a time. Thankfully, though, I got a little bit more sure of myself as the night continued. On the plus side, I had absolutely no nervousness or anxiety regarding my voice. Not that I've ever been worried about that.

2. I was absolutely terrified, at one time, to sing my songs for strangers, or even for acquaintances. I mean, the songs I write are fiercely, intensely, sometimes painfully personal. How does one go about pulling out the skeletons from the closet in public while still maintaining some dignity and self-respect? Moreover, how does one maintain composure while singing songs that were written in gut-wrenching, hiccup-sobbing agony? It actually wasn't as hard as I might have imagined. I was able to transition pretty easily by distancing myself, a little bit, then by speaking candidly. In truth, the lyrics speak for themselves.

3. There have been few people who listen to this record who have not said to me, "you know, Julia, I totally understood [one song or another] because it spoke to me of a situation in my own life." That makes me so much braver. It's empowering, as a songwriter who loathes the idea of just writing cheesy lyrics for the sake of writing lyrics, to know that what I say touches people at a very personal level. It also completely freed me to be able to give a tiny little bit of history before the songs started (without going into extravagant detail) about how each song was born.

4. The introvert in me is not someone who wants to perform live, night in and night out, over and over again. If I had it my way, I think I would live in the studio, writing music, and perform in galas only once in a while. It's freaking exhausting to be so social, and I slept way more than usual in the days following. This would certainly be one of many good reasons to apply for a Canadian Arts Council grant and immediately start making a second record, wouldn't one think?

I spent most of Thursday and Friday feeling very down. It was as though Wednesday night was Christmas morning, fraught with much anticipation and angst, and then Thursday was like the day after Christmas: our apartment filled to bursting with flowers, similar to post-Christmas-gift-inundation. I was left with the awful, empty feeling of "now what?" and the sense of mourning one feels after a momentous occasion is over.

It passed, though. I then had a lovely long weekend relaxing with J., including luxuriously large, healthy, homemade breakfasts; hanging out with great friends; going to a Jays game; taking long walks through our gorgeous neighbourhood; and watching lots of playoff sports. Oh yes, and getting totally drenched in the sudden torrential downpour that interrupted our Monday night outdoor soccer game that has left me sick, feverish and headachey the last couple of days.

Thank goodness for my sweet J. who has kindly looked after my sick, grumpy self. That man's patience and gentle love are as healing as they come, and I am so blessed to have them bestowed on me via constantly replenished glasses of water, cold compresses, headache medicine, and delicious dinners.

And on that note, I'm off to enjoy another delightfully lazy evening.

happy birthday, J.

Yesterday was J.'s birthday.
Happy belated blog birthday, baby. I love you.
(And wasn't that great alliteration?)

This meant that on Saturday, we had 25 people in and out of our new place over the course of the afternoon and evening. What a mish-mash of people it was: my parents, his parents; my brother and sister-in-law, his sister and brother-in-law; his friends from soccer, from high school, from university, from work; my friends from violin, from church, from music.

I feel incredibly lucky to be part of such a tight-knit and yet diverse circle of people. J. and I have very similar relationships with our families and friends. We're blessed to have both sets of parents still happily together, each married for more than 30 years. We both count our siblings among our very best friends. We're also the same in that rather than having one giant group of friends, we've each retained at least one or two close friends from almost every social situation in our lives. This makes it a fun adventure every time we've planned a social event, and it always turns out to be a success.

So it was on Saturday. In the kitchen, my mom and J.'s dad were discussing my sisters' west coast adventure; in the dining room, J.'s mom chatted up my beloved "M" friend's dark, handsome husband; J.'s university roommate and my dad intensely talked intense baseball while sitting on the couch watching the Jays game; my brother and my amazing producer and friend got into a deep conversation on music; in the fireplace sitting area, J.'s childhood soccer friend and his current co-worker faced off in a game of subjective "Guess Who" (brilliant, just ask J. for clarification); one of my besties and I hid out in the still-cluttered office discussing slightly secret news and deciding which black cocktail dress I should wear on Wednesday night.

Then we went out dancing (thanks, S. & G. for living so close to a perfectly lovely place with such easy access!) and I could only marvel at how investing time and energy in friendships over time makes introducing people from all sorts of different worlds so much fun. Only when you truly feel secure and comfortable in every single relationship in a room can you turn off your need as a hostess for utter perfection and relax into the enjoyment of a great night with great friends.

And how amazing is it that our 1250 sq. ft. apartment could easily have held about 40 people? I don't think that my beloved little bachelorette pad could have held 15, let alone 25! I love our house.

So, to each and every one of you who were there, thank you for joining us in a wonderful day. To those who wished they could be there but couldn't make it out; don't worry, we will have an official housewarming party when the afore-mentioned clutter in the office is finally clean.

The kitchen only took three hours to clean yesterday morning(!), and J. and I spent the rest of yesterday exhausted but happy, eating greasy take-out and Coldstone Creamery ice cream and watching sports. First the Jays vs. Twins (baseball), then the Heat vs. Bulls (basketball), then the Canucks vs. Sharks (hockey). Oh, how we love sports on the big screen.

Two days...two freaking days...
Have I mentioned that there has been a beautiful, glossy white baby grand Kawai piano rented for me for the night? Oh, the glam gloriousness of it all. Thanks muchly to Ben and Shiraz for the hook up.

And yes, I'm still undecided on which dress.

moodiness and migraines

It's been a rough start to this month, if I'm being honest.

I've been looking after my beloved elderly grandmother, who is suffering from Alzheimer's disease. Spunky, feisty and opinionated, she was once the sweetest, most caring, most considerate woman one could have encountered. These days, that spunk and feistiness have become of the irritable, touchy, quarrelsome kind; she's now like a rebellious teenager who believes she knows better than everyone around her, and heaven forbid one try to correct her or gently convince her otherwise when she thinks she's right.

Like wearing a wool hat, leather gloves and a heavy sweater underneath her jacket on the warmest day of the year thus far, refusing to believe that she'd be warm. (She was.) Like scrubbing, on her hands and knees, the old cement porch, in hopes that it would be as white as the freshly poured concrete sidewalk down the street, refusing to believe that she couldn't get it clean. (She couldn't.) It's heartbreaking.

I've learned enough about Alzheimer's, over the years, to know that it's devastating to be that child, that grandchild, that spouse, that sibling, etc. whose loved one no longer knows them. We're there, with my grandmother. She greets me as a stranger at the door every morning, aware, from the daily note left by my aunt, that someone named Julia will be coming over. By mid-morning, she's suspicious if I use the downstairs washroom at my aunt's house. By lunchtime, she's conspiratorially whispering to my aunt (who's making her usual noon phone call) that she's afraid to leave me alone in the living room. Does my aunt know that there's a very nice girl playing piano in her house? Does she know that this girl is making her own tea in the kitchen?

My sister, blessed with a degree of patience and compassion given to few, has been looking after her three times a week since last summer. I'm relieving her for the month while my adventuresome sisters are off travelling to the west coast, including cross-country train trips, an Alaskan cruise, kayaking in the Pacific ocean, hiking through the Rockies. I'm so excited for them and, despite having left only yesterday, I'm missing them already.

In the meantime, the three-times-a-week has fallen to me. I'm not my angelic aunt, with whom my grandmother has been living for almost two years and who deals with her mood swings, her ever-unpredictable behaviour day-in and day-out with grace and poise; nor am I my saintly sister, who handles both terrible two-year-olds and temperamental eighty-two-year-0lds with her afore-mentioned patience and compassion. And me? I'm prone to volatility and moodiness myself, so...

I'm dealing daily. Trying not to get frustrated with hearing the same story over and over again; with trying to convince my grandmother of truths that she is not willing to believe (like refuting the fact that my grandfather died soon after they got married and she never had any children, said with tears in her eyes; or that her siblings who have passed away have forgotten about her and just don't write or visit any more); with the lack of censorship she possesses these days, as many of her comments are downright rude.

Plus, what's up with the migraines I've had almost every day the last three weeks? Either my back is way more messed up than it used to be, or I'm doing something wrong. My hyper-mobile neck has slipped out of joint of late more times than I can count, and I'm rendered effectively slit-eyed useless until my fantastic physio mother can make it all okay. Not as simple as it sounds, when it involves co-ordinating my busy schedule, her currently-even-busier schedule, and my desire to ride the subway nauseous over to my parents' place, whereupon I manage to crawl down the stairs to the basement and collapse onto her treatment table until she fixes me yet again. Thanks a million, Mom. I know I'm high-maintenance.

Sheesh. This post has turned into a rant.

On a positive side, I'm enjoying baseball season again, and had the privilege of going with my dad to one of the most exciting games of the season last night (which is why today I kind of sound like a frog, I'm not going to lie). I always immensely enjoy Blue Jays games with my daddy, especially when the Jays manage to win in extra innings. Bonus.

Tonight, it's J. and I who are taking advantage of the Toronto Star passes my dad is willing to surrender (every once in a while!) and going for a date night. I love date night at the ballpark. J. loves that I love date night at the ballpark, or the basketball court, or the soccer stadium, etc. It's a win-win situation for us both.

Have a happy hump day, people. This week is half over.

P.S. The CD release party is one week away!

beautiful illusions

Beautiful Illusions is here.

Yes, the CD (x1,000 copies!) is in my hot little hands. Finally.
I am crazy excited and crazy overwhelmed by its physical presence.

Please come support at the CD release party on Wednesday May 18th in the Lounge at The Drake Hotel. I'll be playing two sets with a variety of fabulous musicians, and the party will be from 6pm to midnight!

Looking forward to seeing you, and to performing this stuff live. Finally.

a brief update

Things are happening over here, despite the silence.

The apartment is slowly but surely being assembled in accordance with my detail-oriented, obsessive-compulsive mental imagery of how things should look.
Before and after pictures to follow, I absolutely promise.

The CD for which I've waited with bated breath will arrive in early May.
The CD release party will follow on Wednesday May 18th at The Drake Hotel, where the Lounge has been rented out as a private party by my former company. Nope, I'm not joking. It's all about me that night! More details to follow, and official invites will be sent. Mark it on your calendars. Come one, come all.

The brain is befuddled with too much sleep. J. kisses me goodbye now, every morning, and I roll over and blissfully snooze until 9:30 or even 10am. What? I didn't know I could sleep that long any more. Then, of course, I am sleepless, tossing and turning, until 2am.
And so the cycle repeats itself.

I am excited for spring, for summer, for all that is coming this bright, sunny season of my life. And above all, I am so freaking happy.

Life is good. Thought you should know.

tired and uninspired

I'm tired.
Tired of cleaning.
Tired of unpacking, and sorting, and putting away, and cleaning again.
Tired of too much time on my hands.
Tired of nothing and everything to say.
Tired of feeling uninspired.

And dreading change, once again.
Hating change, actually, realizing how isolated I tend to make myself.
Faced with imminent upheaval: a beloved friendship, a lifeline, about to be altered and lengthened by a move, by considerable distance, I hate change.

Plus I've had no internet: hence no posts.
Just thought I'd show my face.

I'll be back soon.

unexpected provision

Did you see my post below?

The one where, earlier today, I mentioned that this company for which I worked and the "monetary blessing far above and beyond the norm"?

I'd like to add to that. This morning, the CEO of this company asked me to meet with him in a boardroom. While very happy to see me go off to pursue my dreams, he told me that everyone was incredibly sad to see me go...and that, as a sign of appreciation for all my efforts, they were going to be giving me another bonus of

several thousand dollars.

Uh...wait a second.

Did you get that, people?

I'm a part-time employee, who has already been given quarterly bonuses for years, who has had basically her entire album paid for, who has been afforded unbelievable opportunities, and who has voluntarily resigned...

and I'm being given more money?

I'm overwhelmed. There is no doubt in my mind that this job came with favour and abundant blessing, and I am beyond grateful for every moment I spent working there. The provision I've experienced has been inexplicable.

God works in mysterious, unfathomable ways.
And, more and more with every day that passes, I know that He really does work all things together for my good.

firsts and lasts

This week has been full of firsts and lasts.
Today is no different.
Today is my last day of work.

I don't even know where to begin in expressing how incredibly amazing this job, this company, these people, have been. How does one describe the intangibles of a work culture that encourages, promotes, and rewards; management who give generously above and beyond to see passions fulfilled and dreams achieved; co-workers who are more like friends and family?

It is bittersweet, after three years, to be leaving.

I am certainly ready for change, ready to move forward, and yet I feel somehow a desperate sense of emptiness right now when I try to imagine what life will look like next week, next month, without the 6am alarm clock and the 7:30am start time; without the shift changes, the double shifts, the long hours; without spontaneous trips to New York City.

I am so grateful for all those who have been so instrumental in this journey I've been on. I could never have imagined, three years ago, that I would have been granted a job with so much flexibility, so much understanding, and monetary blessing far above and beyond the norm. Despite being a part-time employee, I have had full benefits for the last three years. In addition to my salary, there were generous quarterly bonuses. I was offered the opportunity, if I had so chosen, to join the sales and trading desk as a junior trader, an opportunity I would almost certainly never have been offered elsewhere.

Most incredible of all was the gifting of many thousands of dollars in payment for different aspects of the album that I've spent the last 18 months recording. Never could I have imagined, when I began, that the CEO of a major finance company would like, respect and appreciate me so much that he would offer to pay for my own personal goal to come to fruition.

It's going to be a rough afternoon...
But this day was always going to come.
I'm ready for what's next.

Just a little sad to go.