No fear

I do a core workout class twice a week at the gym. Thursdays are my favourite class day because I like the instructor. Today was her first time teaching the newest release and she asked if anyone had done it yet. I had, and another guy in the middle of the studio nodded.

"What did you think of it?" the instructor asked.

"Hard," he said.

"Hard! We don't say hard in this class! We say challenging."

I smiled at this. The other day when Stephen said relationships are hard I said I couldn't use that word. I didn't it like it. To me, hard is a word you use in exasperation. Hard is saved for things that are not only difficult, but questionable as to why you keep doing them. I don't want either of us to describe our relationship as ever being hard.

Maybe it's a girl thing to get so hung up on certain words. I like the word challenge. I can agree that a good relationship has challenges. I like a challenge. I think I have some version of that statement on my resume. Take on a challenge and your are ambitious, driven, confident in your abilities and a problem solver. That's who I am.

I can't remember the wording of it anymore, but I used to have a quote on this blog about how having a relationship with millions of people was easy, it's having a relationship with one single person that's difficult. It resonated with me when I found it because it was easy to make new friends with random strangers but trying to create a meaningful relationship with one special guy was har-d.

Now I see the wisdom differently. It's always been easy to bare my rawest thoughts and feelings here. Perhaps it's the comfort factor of putting words on a page. It's a release and they just flow out so much easier from my fingers than my mouth. My arguments make sense here. When I try to speak my truths to one person, even the simplest statement gets stuck in my throat and then, like I am actually choking, my eyes water. It's annoying. I wonder if it would be any easier if I knew sign language. Maybe I could just draw them pictures?

I never used to be so afraid. I would worry about things a bit, but they wouldn't shake me. I journaled, blogged, vented to my mom and it was all very manageable. Now, I have something new and special that I am afraid to lose and it's different. I can only guess it is kind of like being a new parent who says "Oh my goodness this little thing is so awesome and precious but so fragile. Please don't let me break it!" Kids are a lot stronger than we know, and really, so are we. Even when we are
fumbling around and feel more incompetent than a dust bunny, we still have instincts to guide us. And, I believe, if we have good, honest intentions, we can do pretty okay. People can generally forgive someone who is trying her best. Love does that.

I am afraid to say out loud that I am afraid, because I don't want to be seen as weak. I want to be strong, tough, confident and the one you can lean on. I used to be that girl. I had to be that girl. It was called being an older sister.

I am afraid that if I find my voice and get the words out about my fears and needs, there will be too many for any normal person to handle, and the camel's back will break. But I'm also afraid that if the fear doesn't come out, it will grow, like a cancer. It will make me ugly and eventually destroy me. I can't keep holding it all in.

I used to come here to share my story with the hope that if someone else out there in the world was going through the same thing, they wouldn't feel so alone. They could feel normal.

Being afraid is hard. It is exhausting. And what if I actually have nothing to fear? What if I could stand there, in all my imperfect messiness, release it all and lose nothing but the stress of carrying the fear around? What if I released it and someone said, hey, me too?

Whenever I find myself staring at a wall of fear that has paralyzed me, I remind myself that I will survive. I always do. The wall crumbles. I leap. And I haven't died yet.

Dear Jill,
You're not perfect. You're working on stuff. I get it. I love you anyway. You're worth sticking it out for. Let's go have some fun and eat some ice cream.

Love,
Jill

The relationship you have with yourself is the most challenging one and the most important. It sets the stage for all your other relationships. It needs to be nurtured.

Sit Down. Shut Up.

The Negative Committee had a meeting this week. They told me they weren't happy with what I've been putting out lately.

"The problem is, Jill, you're just not good enough for us. You're a let down. We know you can do better, so why aren't you? Why aren't you giving us the 110% we expect? You know that we don't accept less than that, so why do you even show up with your sad, ho-hum efforts?"

Friday is a run day for me. I alternate between jogging at a normal pace and running at a speedy pace to work on bettering my overall pace for regular runs. I wasn't really looking forward to going to the gym and pounding the treadmill.

"Skip it tonight, Jill. You're too tired and you probably won't run well anyway," the Committee chirped.

I puttered around the house a bit. Then I was hungry so I ate something. My gym bag sat on the floor, my shoes peeking out.

"Don't give up, Jill. It won't take long and you'll feel so good when you're done,"

There's a positive Committee too, of course. Gentle in nature, it is much more soft-spoken than the Negative Committee. I sighed and put on my gym clothes.

On the treadmill I entered my speeds for jogging and running. I decided to push it harder on the run intervals so I set a speed I'd never touched before. I would run for a total of 27 minutes.

At 10 minutes the Negative Committee had regrouped. "Aren't you tired? How's your knee? You've run hard enough, why don't you just finish the session off at your jog speed? Does this interval training stuff even work anyway? I mean, have you actually noticed any difference?"

Maybe I would take it easy, I decided. But not right away. I should run at least 9 intervals at the high speed, since I was doing a 9:30 mile, so if I ran 9 minute then that would be almost a mile, cumulative, at high speed. This math seemed to satisfy both committees.

I got to the ninth interval. Okay, I could take it easy now. I'd done the work.

NO! DON'T GIVE UP ON YOURSELF! ARE YOU READY TO COLLAPSE? DO YOU FEEL WOOZY? DO YOUR LEGS WANT TO GIVE OUT? WELL THEN KEEP GOING. DO ONE MORE.

Positive Committee had found a megaphone. I listened and did another interval. And another. And another. And then I was on my last one and I ran it as hard as I could because maybe I did suck this week. Maybe I couldn't make the sunshine and rainbows appear but I was not going to cheat myself out of a good run. When my time ticked down to zero I punched the stop button, my lungs sucking for air and legs burning. I'd done it. I ran and I did not suck. The Negative Committee scowled silently and I glowed in all my sweaty glory.

Pining/Pinning

I am a Pinterest freak. I can lose an hour pouring through the goodies on my feed. Recipes are my top finds--it's like a free, continuously growing cook book where all the recipes have photos. Drool...

I pin fashion, pictures of a future I dream of, work out and time saving tips. I also love collecting quotes on my boards Words to Work By, Words to Live By and Exactly. What is that feeling you get, that space that is filled with warmth when you find words that mirror what you believe in your heart? It's like calorie-free ice cream on the tongue, plus the moment your love takes hold of your hand while you are cozy warm under a fluffy, soft blanket. Or something like that.

Here's what has my heart singing these days.

Just because it's not how you would say it, don't toss it away. Everyone has their own way to say I love you.

I need to carry this rock in my pocket.

Oh do I know the truth of this one. 

I think this is true, even when you are in love. Perhaps even more so because you don't stop growing your heart just because someone has put their warm hands on it.

This is my theory on negotiation as a method of conflict resolution. I love that something even more beautiful can come out of strong opposition + stronger will to find a solution.

I am always torn between wanting to sing my heart out and shutting up so I can listen to something important that clearly can't wait 2.5 minutes when the song is over.

My number one rule to live by.

I still think the "Talk To Me" is one of the hottest 3-word commands I've ever received.

I love this perspective. It makes me laugh. But if it also makes me nervous because I am a terrible dancer, am I missing the point entirely?

I put hours into Pinterest with the hope that one day I will find the recipe for these exact cookies. Although my boyfriend did try to propose to me with a corn chip ring once so maybe I am looking for the wrong culinary project.

Paws for love

Today I was browsing through a table of used books at a university fundraiser and I came across a geography text book I used in first year. The class I used the book for was terrifically un-stimulating. It was the only one I skipped several times because it seemed like a waste of time to sit there and listen to the professor read from the book rather than offer any of his own teaching. The exam was brutal.

The text brought back another strong memory. It was identical except in better condition than mine was (or is, I think I still have it somewhere). Mine has hundreds of tiny teeth marks in the spine and a corner of the front cover torn off, thanks to a teething beagle puppy known as Elmo.

I was so mad at him that day when he used my book as a chew toy. That little dog was in a destructive phase and a pooping on the carpet phase. But he was cute, cuddly and did enough funny, puppy dog things to remind me that I really did love him.

I remember Elmo sleeping on my bed. I'd have to curl my legs around his 30lbs, snoring body because he always seemed to find his comfy spot in the middle of the bed. The noise and contortion was hardly bothersome. His snoring is actually the most comforting sound I know.

On Thanksgiving weekend my family, Stephen and his parents gathered at the cottage. At night we were all woken to the sound of Elmo wheezing and coughing. Unlike his soft snores, this cough was so disturbing it gave me knots in my stomach and I winced in pain every time he let one out. It sounded like a lamb going to slaughter.

Days before the weekend, my dad had called me while I was with Stephen to tell me that Elmo wasn't himself and they were worried about him. My mom took him to the vet and although it wasn't his final destination, the doctor told her Elmo was in the early stages of congestive heart failure. My Schmoe is dying.

You know when you get a pet that you are more likely to outlive him, but you push this thought out of your head so you can enjoy all the joy and unconditional love he brings you. He turns three and finally seems to have turned the corner on that rambunctious puppy stage. He turns seven and a little voice whispers to you that he's hit middle age, but he still looks good. He turns 11 and you start noticing the characteristics of the typical senior dog. He turns 13 and you know every day forward is a gift.

My mom said to me the other night while I was scratching Schmoe's back that he doesn't really smile anymore. He used to seem to know how to put on the charm whenever he wanted another cookie or to go for a walk. He'd stick his pink tongue out a little and the corners of his mouth would naturally curl up, like a smiling stuffed animal you'd be drawn to in the toy store.

The vet prescribed him a cocktail of meds to take to help with the congestion. If he seemed to be in pain I know my parents would do what was necessary. For now though my mom feeds him gourmet food and takes him for shorter walks. This is quality of life, we can only guess and hope, for a dog.

In 2013 I fell in love and found an unbelievable joy in my heart. I suspect that I could also find a void in it where a spotted dog dug a hole and buried 15 years of memories.

My Puzzling Experience

I've been beating myself up a lot lately for being a mess. It's exhausting and it's burning me out. I'm not a mess. I'm just a puzzle with many pieces of odd shapes and spaces that need some filling in.

I have spots where I reach out and spots where I pull in. I'm not even around my edges and not perfectly symmetrical.

Sometimes I think my life looks like this.

There are pieces here and there that I know belong somewhere but I haven't figured out where or don't feel like I have the time to put into place. Most likely there is a piece or two missing. It's probably under the couch or stuck to the bottom of my foot. I love the colours of my puzzle though and I tell myself I will get to finishing it soon.

And then along comes Love.

And those places where I am pulled in, Love reaches toward and fills up the void. Those places where I stretch out, Love accepts gratefully for giving what it needed.

Figuring out how the pieces go together and accepting the joining of those pieces isn't always easy. They are all different but they do all belong. Sometimes I fight it. Sometimes I try to force together pieces that don't actually fit. Sometimes I have to step back and take a break for a while or spend time looking at the big picture to understand what I am trying to put together, The tiny details I contribute to the beautiful thing I am a part of.

I have a beautiful puzzle. Even when I feel jagged, upside-down, completely odd-ball and like I don't fit in anywhere, Love has always grabbed me and guided me into place.

And really, how amazing does that feel when you're all warm and safe, in that place where you belong perfectly, with Love?

Let's do the Twist

Inhale. Exhale. Plot twist. This is just a plot twist.

When I have a plan, an expertly laid, perfectly timed plan, and that plan goes horribly off the rails, I repeat these two words to myself until I calm down: Plot twist. Because I'm just bopping along my merry little way, trying to do good in the world by spreading love and good cheer and then the Universe rolls over, scratches itself and throws the proverbial monkey wrench into my day, just for an amusing right hook in my personal story, y'know, to shake the bag a little so I can stay sharp and the Grand Poobah of Life can have a good chuckle.

Saturday was a day full of plot twists.

It was October 5 which marked six months of relationship surival bliss with my dear sweet honey bunches of oats, Stephen the Beefcake. (I am still working on a good alias for him. And by good I mean ridiculously goofy, because we have that kind of love.) We were going to celebrate with a fancy, neither-one-of-us-has-to-wash-the-dishes dinner. For this half year special occasion I wanted to look half decent so I made an appointment for a manicure, pedicure and make up doing at a beauty college. I'd never been to a beauty school for a service before, but I've been to a massage school and was entirely satisfied so I expected the same results. I invited Lisa along to make it a full blown girly-girl afternoon.

The first twist of the day came when we arrived at the college and I was informed that I would not be getting my make up done.

"We tried calling you this morning, but I guess we only had your work number. The girl who was going to do your make up today couldn't make it in," said the otherwise pleasant receptionist. This was a bit of a heartbreaker for me because I had set my mind on trying a red lip look that day, to complement an outfit comprised of a turquoise blue halter-top blouse and a navy blue satin pencil skirt. I'd never done a bright red lip before and had no clue what shade would work for me so I was counting on some professional (or approximating professional) help that afternoon in a way that would draw Stephen's gaze right to my kisser the moment he walked in the door.

Plot twist, plot twist plot twist. I would be okay. I'd just zip over to the mall after the appointment and visit one of the many make up counters for a consult.

Three hours later...

My fingers and toes were painted a pretty, ballet slipper pink. I had about 40 minutes to solve my make up crisis. Lisa dropped me off at my house and I had zero minutes to put a single calorie into my grumbling belly which hadn't seen a morsel of food since brunch. I grabbed my Truck keys, booked it to the mall and settled upon Shoppers Drug Mart as my destination.

I walked up to the first person in the make up boutique who looked like she knew how to work liquid liner and asked if she could help me pick a red lipstick. She was wearing a Benefit Cosmetics pink t-shirt. 

"We don't have anything like that, but this lady may be able to help you," Pink t-shirt lady gestured to the porcelain-skinned and raven haired beauty from Lise Watier.

Pretty Girl Lise Watier quickly grabbed a tube of rouge and sampled it for me on the back of her right hand. It looked exciting but not over-the-top. I was game.

"Could you try it on me?" I asked.

She introduced me to her chair and I took no time getting comfortable. I then launched into my sad, sad tale about the make up artist who did not show up to do my 6-month-aversary dinner face.

"Would you like me to put some foundation on you?" she asked.

Sitting there with my completely bare canvas visage, I am sure every sign of relief was visible as replied, "I would be incredibly grateful for anything you can do to this face."

That lovely Lise Watier artist proceeded to cover up my red where I didn't want it and add glow and sparkle where I did, along with the very dramatic and delicious red lips.

I knew the product wouldn't be cheap but I asked for the lipstick and liner. 

"We have the liner, but we seem to be out of the lipstick," the artist informed me. Since Shoppers was having a 20x the points event for spending $50 or more I apologized and told her I would check another store for both pieces. I don't think she works on commission but I still felt bad walking away from her all dolled up but empty handed.

When I found the lipstick and liner at another store I finally checked the price. It was $21 for the lipstick and $18 for the liner. Oye. More painful than the steep price was the fact that I was still short of the $50 for the bonus points. I caved and ran around the store to increase my tally. I found a card for Stephen and a package of the Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte instant coffees. (PS--the lipstick was totally worth the splurge. It is creamy but light, not drying on my lips and tastes a little like cherry Chapstick)

I got home and had just enough time to put on my outfit and my coat before Stephen came in the door. I wanted my outfit to have a big dramatic reveal moment at the restaurant.

We had made reservations at Cafe Dario on Tuesday night after checking out their online menu. I'd been there before for lunch and enjoyed every morsel. Their dinner shtick is a prix fixe menu with a number of appetizer and main course options. That evening began my four days of dreaming of roasted lamb in a Kahlua chocolate sauce.

Stephen and I were both close to passing out from hunger when we arrived at the warm and homey, tiny restaurant. As we were shown our table the waitress placed that day's menu in the space where our plates would eventually land. Stephen got right to business with checking out the offerings as I was slipping off my coat, thus entirely missing my ta-da moment.The poor boy was so hungry that I doubt had I literally done the twist I would have succeeded in catching least a corner of his eye. He is a good man though and he did have many sweet words for me soon enough.

I scanned the menu in search of the dishes I had already tasted in my mind. I saw the word lamb but neither the word Kahlua nor chocolate were anywhere near it. It said peppercorn instead. I twisted my hands in my lap with distress inflamed by my raving hunger. I could hear the heavens chortling.

Once the plates started coming and my wine glass was filled with delicious, red liquid I started to relax. I could feel my face warming and could only imagine it was approximating the shade of my pretty mouth, but Stephen reached over to take hold of my hand and everything else just melted away. 

Six months of Stephen. He's my favourite plot twist of 2013.

After dinner we weren't quite ready to call it a night so we decided to pay a visit to where we went on our first date--Joey's on Kenaston. 

On March 23 I pulled into the box mall parking lot and parked right in front of David's Bridal. I was certain  I heard the Universe rolling on the floor laughing that night. I remember the moment when I first saw Stephen, although I couldn't really tell you what he wore that night. I do remember thinking thank goodness, he's not a shorty. I will be able to wear heels with this guy.

We went into the lounge but couldn't find a seat until a sweet, grey-haired couple offered us their booth. Every time the 23rd of the month rolls around I think of them and say a silent prayer of gratitude.

At the end of our date he walked me to Truck and right there in front of David and all his white dresses he kissed me on the cheek and said he would call me, because he wanted to. Such a smoothy he is. A few weeks later I asked him if I could be his girlfriend. I didn't have any clever lines or a big dramatic speech. The Universe snored peacefully as our story took flight.