would you rather

Once upon a time, playing the "would you rather" game, I was asked a question for which I have yet to decide my final answer. The question was as follows:

Would you rather have a happily ordinary life

or be miserable but extraordinary?

Initially, my response was definite and immediate. I wanted to be extraordinary. I wanted to be someone, to do great things, regardless of what that might mean to my personal happiness. I felt that living in contentment meant living in complacency, settling into dreary boredom.

Then, life as I knew it completely disintegrated, and I longed for nothing more than simple, ordinary, everyday moments.
Forget fame and fortune. Forget power and prestige.
I wanted to love and be loved at a very basic level, extraordinariness be damned.

Now? Well. I mean, I know it's the "would you rather" game and all, but can't there be just a little bit of both?
Can't I be happy and be extraordinary?
Why must it be one or the other?

I have always dreamed big.

My three lifetime goals, from childhood on:

1. Be on the stage. Broadway, London's West End, Stratford, Shaw.

2. Record an album. Original music, of course.

3. Write a novel. Or publish a book of short stories.

Some things just don't change. I sit at my desk every day in the highfalutin world of corporate finance, all-purpose office gopher, wondering if this is it. Wondering if the dreams I have will ever fully be realized. I get closer daily (to one of them, at least) and yet self-doubt is such a huge enemy. A colossal enemy.

Still, deep down stirs my ambition. I shy away from the word, but I am ambitious. I want to achieve things. I don't want to just go to work to pay the bills, do a job I despise for decades of my life because it's what you have to do. (That said, I would also love to be able to achieve things and still have a happy marriage, a happy home. Thank goodness that J. feels similarly, that he's definitely not content with mediocrity but longs to succeed himself.)

ambition

(noun)

1 : a) an ardent desire for rank, fame or power

b) desire to achieve a particular end

2 : the object of ambition

3 : a desire for activity or exertion

(from Merriam Webster's Online Dictionary)

Recently I've been listening often and on repeat to the British band Doves (thanks, Ben). So many of their songs resonate somewhere deep within me, lyrically, musically, melodically. I was mulling over the lyrics to the final track off their 2005 release, Some Cities, entitled, appropriately, Ambition.

So ambition cut you down
Ain't a love as perfect
Everybody knows it
Something drove you down

Something as good
Something new
Somebody good
Our ambition cuts you down

There's not a love that's perfect
But I; I live in hope

Something good
Somebody new
Something as good
Something that's mine

Ain't a love that's perfect
Everybody knows it
Ambition cuts us down

Ambition,
Doves

Once upon a time, in my naive, fearless youth, I believed in perfection. I believed in uncompromised ambition. I believed in absolutes. I believed that in love, in life, in my sky-high dreams, I could and would unquestionably achieve extraordinary things.

As the sky came falling down, so did the dreams; but perseverance has picked me back up and slowly I have begun to put the pieces of those shattered dreams back together. Like helium balloons, they are floating once more towards the sky.

Once again, I want more. I want better.
I want the greener grass I longed for.
I want extraordinarily ambitious happiness.

And what's not to say that I can't have it? As we fell asleep last night, limbs tangled together, J. whispered in my ear that he feels I'm on the verge of breakthrough. How much those words mean as I dare to hope again. As I learn that love isn't perfect, yet is more precious for its imperfections; that uncompromised ambition can be unhealthy, can cut to the core, but that in losing it entirely, I was losing myself. Now, I am rediscovering myself.

Happy heart and home? Check.

Daring to dream again? Check.

Ambition achieved?

turbulent thoughts

So much going on I don't know where to begin. Writing vanishes.
No journaling, no blogging, no scribbling in notebook margins.

turbulent
(adjective)
1. violently agitated or disturbed; tumultuous
2. having a chaotic or restless character or tendency
3. causing unrest or disturbance; unruly
(from The Free Online Dictionary)

Most of it is, of course, in my head. So many questions.

Am I good enough?

Is this what I should be doing?

How does it sound?

What happens now?

Am I kidding myself?

How do I look?

Is this a far-fetched, improbable dream?

What do I do next?

Will this ever really work?

Sleepless nights, restless days, my thoughts are turbulent.
When I can process through these thoughts, I will write more.

For now, these words I once wrote will explain what I cannot:

Raise the sail and sail away
Sail away from this

But I'm stubborn and I'm stuck here
And I don't know how to move

Stubborn and stuck here
And I don't want to move

Starting over has its sunny days and storms
Starting at the beginning is so much harder now than before

Storms,
Julia Hendrik

oui, je voudrais rouge, s'il vous plait

Red lipstick has always had a je ne sais quoi quality. It is daring, bold, seductive. It holds a magical, mystical, ultra-confident femme fatale appeal that has long enchanted me along with countless other women over the years. Not surprisingly, then, I've been deliberating for a while the purchase (and, therefore, the subsequent wearing) of said colour of lipstick.

Yesterday, I took the plunge. And when I say red lipstick, I mean bright red lipstick. Not one with a tinge of burgundy, wine, or coral; but a startling, arresting, true-blue red. The kind of red that made my sister say I looked like I was wearing the kind of makeup that belonged in a magazine photo shoot, not in real life.

Typically, I'm a dramatic eyes, subtle lips kind of a girl. A shimmer of brow highlighter, a sweep of jet-black liquid eyeliner, a swipe of mascara, a swoop of blush or bronzer kind of a girl. It's my daily look and my nightly look (add or subtract thickness of liner on my eyes and shade of colour on my cheeks) and it's been carefully honed over the past six or seven years. My lips, depending on season, wardrobe, and mood, range from sparkly sheer to creamy coral to pearly pink to bronzy beige. Basically, neutral shades have ruled my lips for years.

I have always viewed colour on the lips as a very non-Julia thing. For as long as I can remember, my mother has worn various matte shades of rose, berry, and plum. As a child, playing with her makeup (and thus subjecting my childhood next-door-neighbour V. and my sisters to many makeover sessions), those colours seemed grown up and mature; now, more grown up and mature myself, I know that those colours just don't suit my skin tone and hence I should never wear them.

But red is different. Red is, quite simply, timeless. Other colours come and go, but red remains current, classy. This year, particularly, it seems to be everywhere in the fashion world. The simple-eye-and-sensual-lip combo is apparently a must on recent red carpets; and while I'm hardly a typical trend-follower, this is one I'm definitely buying into.

It's interesting, though, how controversial my wearing of red lipstick has proven to be. It really sets off a firestorm of opinions, perceptions and pre-conceived notions when a fair-skinned, blonde-haired, dark-eyed girl wears bright red lipstick; usually with all black, or with a shot of another colour, like my deep teal trench coat or my mustard yellow scarf. Some of the opinions:

My mother, though she won't say it outright, hates it; her comment was that "it draws too much attention, and why do you want to do that, Julia?" (read: "You look like a tart, Julia.")

Both of my sisters said that the first thought they had was that I looked the way I did after I came off stage in my musical theatre days. This would mean bright fuschia lipstick complete with a layer of pancake makeup, china-doll blush and fake eyelashes. Yikes. Not exactly the look I was going for, girls.

The girls at work who happened to see it the first night I really experimented, back in February at a 'Sex and the City' inspired birthday party (with a borrowed lipstick), loved it.

A complete stranger on the subway last night stopped me on my way off the train to tell me that I looked "absolutely dazzling". Truth be told, he also kindly informed me I had a little smear of lipstick on my cheek - one of the hazards of walking around windy downtown Toronto with my hair down and blowing free - but even while I blushed, thanked him profusely and wiped it away, he told me not to worry, because I looked "seriously gorgeous".

My wonderful J. is a fan of a more natural makeup look in general. More specifically, when I asked him about red lipstick on me, he said "the more subtle, the better", claiming that the distractions of dramatic makeup don't do my natural beauty justice. Yes, I know he's very biased, but it's a nice ego boost nonetheless to know that I look just as good to him with not a stitch of makeup on my face.

And me? Well, I like it. Not every day - I am so not that girl! - but once in a while, wearing one of my many little black dresses, or possibly during my upcoming photo shoot taking promo shots for the album, a pair of pouty red lips reflecting back at me wherever I look is a huge confidence booster. It definitely puts a swing in my hips and a smile on my usually serious face.

I feel glamourous, I feel sexy, I feel feminine.
But sheesh, do I ever get stared at. And before that sounds like utter vanity, believe me, it's not always nicely.

I wonder what they're thinking?
I wonder what you think?

proud as punch

Yesterday, my modest boyfriend casually informed me that his thesis advisor from university has been trying to contact him. Apparently, his thesis is in the process of being published.

J. might never tell you himself, but I will. It's amazing.
Sheesh, he's smart. And he's a really, really good writer.
Believe me. Really well-written mushy emails seem even mushier as a result of being so well-written. I'm serious. I would know.

So I'm not surprised. I'm just incredibly impressed.
And super proud of him. Gorgeous brainiac that he is.
Just wanted you to know.

Post Edit: Please don't even try to ask me what it's about. For that, you'll have to ask him. Something about 'meta-data-organization'? Unlike J., I did not graduate with honours double-majoring in both Business and IT. Did I mention that he's crazy intelligent?

temporarily deaf in one ear

You know that child in the walk-in clinic, the doctor's office, the emergency waiting room? Yes, that one, the one who's pulling his ear, screaming, sniveling, crying, complaining; to whom secretly, in all your grown up, stoic, mature pain, you want to yell,

Shut up, kid!

You know what I'm talking about. Well, I now get that kid's pain. Literally. After a couple of weeks of low-grade fevers, constant headaches, an occasionally sore throat and seriously low energy levels, I awoke in the early hours of Wednesday morning in agony. My ears felt like someone was trying their hardest to stick a pen down through my ear canals into my throat and up through my sinuses. Graphic, I know. It gets better.

To the walk-in Wednesday afternoon. The diagnosis, after determining post-ear cleanse that having Swimmer's Ear in the summer has not had great long-term effects on my ears, was a minor ear infection. I was given some basic antibiotics to ward off further infection. Then, antibiotics in one hand, painkillers in the other, it was off to J.'s to watch the final Raptors game of the regular season (which, incidentally, they did win, but still didn't make the playoffs as a result of their horrific late-season slide).

But, a comedy of earrors (I know, I know, that's just awful) things got steadily worse. I got out of the shower later that night almost screaming with pain. I tripped on things, I fell off the side of the bed, I crashed into the wall trying to walk straight. I heard a terrible ringing noise in my left ear. And if it was a pen that was being stuck down my left ear canal before, it had turned into a pointy metal paper opener piercing through. More painkillers.

As I was falling asleep, I started to feel what I thought was water draining from my ear. Nope, actually; not water, but bloody discharge, as it would turn out, all over the pillow in the morning. I couldn't hear out of my left ear, and I was still dizzy as anything. J. and I both freaked a bit, I called my mom for advice (who doesn't still call their mother? Come on, admit it), and it was back to the walk-in early in the morning.

The diagnosis? I have acute otitis media, otherwise known as an acute infection of the middle ear, extremely common in small children and fairly uncommon in adults. The infection got so bad that my eardrum ruptured. Hence the temporary deafness, the dizziness, the discharge, etc. Thankfully, all normal symptoms, although absolutely, excruciatingly, painful.

Now, on stronger antibiotics and using a nasal spray to alleviate the pressure on my sinuses, I'm just waiting to stop hearing in distortion, stop walking in a zig zag, and stop seeping from my ear.

And the next time I see that small child tugging his ear and wailing in the waiting room, I will genuinely sympathize.
Because holy crap does it ever hurt.

trust

What an up-and-down, spin-me-around-and-leave-me-dizzy, emotional-whirlwind kind of a month it's been. There have been days of endlessly streaming tears, days of giddy laughter, days of mind-boggling confusion, days of sheer frustration, days of ardent passion, days of fierce determination.

But through it all, I'm learning. I'm learning things about myself. I'm learning lessons about my own strength and ability to survive, to endure, to persevere; and also about how fragile, how neurotic, how terrified I can be. I'm learning lessons about how those fears and frailties can and do jeopardize tremulous foundations of trust; of confidence, certainty and security.

trust
(intransitive verb)
1 : a) to place confidence : DEPEND
b) to be confident : HOPE
(transitive verb)
1 : a) to commit or place in one's keeping : ENTRUST
b) to permit to stay or go or to do something without misgiving
2: a) to rely on the truthfulness or accuracy of : BELIEVE
b) to place confidence in; rely on
c) to hope or expect confidently
3: to extend credit to
(from Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary)

For one reason or another, it may be difficult to trust. Lies and infidelity run rampant in our society; turning a blind eye to the realities of insincerity and duplicity is nothing but foolish. However, living with constant suspicion is detrimental not only to the growth of relationships, but to personal sanity as well.

Learning how to trust is a scary proposition, to be sure.
It means letting go of fears, of anxieties, of inhibitions, of defences, of uncertainties, of insecurities. It means choosing to remain vulnerable, open, confident, commited, hopeful, expectant; without misgivings, without doubts.

Just as it was difficult to learn to hope again, I am finding more and more that my ability to unequivocally trust someone was also more seriously undermined than I thought. Only now am I dealing with the repercussions. For me personally, it is trusting words that I find so difficult. Broken promises completely decimated my idealistic, naive belief that there really is the possibility of a happy ending. I battle the notion that as wonderful as things may be, the end is always just around the corner.

Precedent would agree.
But precedent doesn't have to dictate my future.

These days, I am learning to have confidence in words spoken.
I am learning to rely on the gentleness of fingers tenderly tracing my face before I sleep, arms holding me protectively captive.
I am learning not to attack when frightened panic overwhelms me.
I am learning to stand strong when pushed away; to lean forward, press in, rather than turning my back and running for cover.

I am learning to trust that even on rough days, even through rough times, there is unwavering conviction in this shared resolve to make things work, to prevail, whatever may come.

And I am learning that the more I learn to trust,
the more I will be trusted in return.

a healthy appetite

Does any other female have a negative reaction to those fairly harmless words? Because, unexpectedly, lo and behold, out of seemingly nowhere, I did. Last night. Poor J.

The best way to explain it is this: yesterday, I started my re-integration into normal vegetarianism. I had spent all of March eating vegan; strictly vegan, as raw vegan as my schedule and the food available at any given time would allow. And, with Easter weekend coming up, the end of Lent, chocolate eggs and dinners galore, I decided to start slowly.

Yesterday began with coffee (oh, coffee, how I love you!) and culminated with a pizza party of sorts while J. and I listened to the Raptors game, a tradition we've begun. Yes, pizza. Cheesy white bread, the like of which I have not tasted in weeks. Arriving home after we picked it up, I dove right in. Yummy. Very, very yummy. And really, J. meant no harm (he has reiterated this time and time again since) by his laughing, simple comment.

Love, I'm glad you have such

a healthy appetite.

Post Edit: That's how I heard it, but J. promises that this is what he actually said. Either way, I had the same unwarranted response.

Love, I'm glad you know how to eat.

Insert sound effect. Duh-duh-DUH. Scary sound effect.

Suffice it to say that I lost my appetite very quickly.

My stomach dropped. My heart dropped. My head spun.

What could he possibly mean? Why would he possibly say that?

I pretty much stopped eating immediately, and got up to, well, pretend to clean. Pretend to be productive, and useful, and to try not to overthink what he'd said. It didn't really work. And I totally confused J. with my response. You see, J. meant only good things when he said that. He meant that he loves eating with me. He loves that we've reached a level of comfort where I don't feel the need to be a girl who picks at her food, a girl who won't enjoy a binge night for fear of how it might look, a girl who's so obsessive about her image that she won't eat pizza or potato chips (yes, all of this was explained to me after I'd calmed down).

The thing is that I'm okay with what I eat, and how I eat, and how much I eat. I don't really have a huge appetite; in fact, other than having days like yesterday, I really do eat very healthy. I don't normally sit at home and eat pizza, or potato chips, or junk food. And I'm not afraid to say that when I'm hungry, I eat. I eat fast, for sure, but I don't think I eat that much. I also work out, take body conditioning classes weekly, go for runs, do yoga and Pilates, and have few real image issues these days.

Yes, I spent years of my life wishing I were skinnier. When you grow up as a gymnast, curves are not your friends. Especially not when they develop over one summer. However, over time, I've become quite okay with my figure. No, I'm not ever going to be skinny, but even with my curves I'm a size Small in everything I buy (minus bras!) and I'm not going to freak out over nothing. I'm fit, muscled and yes, I am healthy. That's a good thing.

When I look at things logically, rationally, my freak out comes back to something pretty ridiculous. Bear with me while I explain. You see, when I was a kid, I loved (LOVED!) literature set in the Victorian era. Old school stories of London ladies, sipping their tea, demure and desirable while corseted to deformity, dominated my reading for years. What I realized is that last night, I was reacting to the word "appetite" as a negative thing in general. It wasn't that I thought J. was insinuating that I eat too much, or making a remark about my weight, or my body. Not at all. As I told J. in trying to explain my response, the words "a healthy appetite" somehow made me feel...unladylike. What?

appetite
(noun)
1. an instinctive physical desire, especially one for food and drink
2. a desire to satisfy a bodily craving, as for sexual pleasure
3. a strong wish or urge
(from The Free Online Dictionary)

Wondering if, somehow, my feelings of being "unladylike" stemmed from deep-rooted ideologies instilled through the novels I read as a teenager, I spent part of this morning looking up social views on women in the Victorian era. Sure enough, the word "appetite" was viewed incredibly negatively. Women were supposed to be restrained, controlled creatures. Having an appetite implied that a woman had desires, wishes, urges, and was viewed as improper, even vulgar. Apparently, there was the reason for my reaction.

I'm a girl. I want to be seen as pretty, as feminine. I guess, more than anything, the comment felt like a hit on my femininity. I don't want to be seen as a "beer and wings" type of girl (no offence whatsoever to those who are!) and I'm really, really not. Nor do I ever want to be, if I'm being totally honest.

But, once in a while, I will scarf down pizza. I will indulge with some high-calorie, sugar-filled fizzy drinks that taste like sour candies, and munch on some chips.

And, freak out or not, the wonderfully reassuring words I got via email this morning more than made up for any neurotic moments his innocent comment incurred the night before. Thanks, J.

Post Edit: I decided those words were a little too personal to post after all. They have in fact been deleted, in case you saw this yesterday and now think you're hallucinating. I apologize.