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.