It’s that time of the year in Canada when we trade in our winter boots and down-filled jackets for shorts and ball caps. We walk out of our air-tight apartments blinking into the sun, stumbling in search of outdoor space. As soon as the thermometer hits 10C we’re on patios, sometimes still in toques, covered in blankets, and tucked underneath space heaters, but we’re on a patio dammit!
We live so much of our lives avoiding the cold that as soon as that sun starts to warm our cold hearts we’re ready to swig as much golden ale and booze-filled slush as possible on a packed picnic bench, tucked behind a fence. We love our patios, beer gardens, and other equally restrictive outdoor pens to consume alcohol.
Because we love it so much if means that we’re often hunting for elusive patio space, turning up disappointed. I don’t want to disparage the wonderful world of patios, there is little better than spending an entire afternoon with friends and beers, but, I’m no high roller and that gets expensive. Then think about festivals, being tucked into an area that often doesn’t allow you to enjoy the music, has a long line, and overpriced beer. This is not ideal.
Continue reading “Beer Freedom”
Fireworks were electric;
in the moment.
She was a slow burn;
timid to ignite,
unstoppable in motion.
I have a passion for what some might call “bad photos.” You know the ones, where the camera snaps before your eyes were open or before you lifted your head or your hand isn’t perfectly on your hip yet or your mouth is making an awkward upside-down duck bill. These, by far, are a few of my favourite things. If my friends allowed me, I would make shirts with all their stupid grins, drunken smirks, distance glances, and awkward stances; and I would wear them with pride.
Of course there are just ‘bad photos,’ and its tough to put my finger on what it is that differentiates the special ones from the ones we ought to chuck in the waste basket. But, for me at least, I think it comes down to a few simple things.
Continue reading “Perfect Timing”
The image of myself
in the eyes of others
What if I don’t live up
to what they think I am.
I couldn’t take the disappointment.
I’ve never been much for new year’s resolutions. In fact, I used to detest them. I think that comes from my aversion to things that other people like. You know how that goes, everyone’s doing it so I need to find some reason its ridiculous. I used to think that separated me from the pack, but I think it just makes you an asshole. Just like what you like and let the rest figure itself out.
However, in lieu of any proper resolution I always find the new year a natural time to look back and reflect on what’s changed in my life. For me this has been especially easy because I had some major events happen in the last few years that gives me a very specific timeline to examine.
Over a year and a half ago I moved cities for a job. I had very few connections here in town. At the time my brother and his girlfriend (now fiancée) were living here, but within 6 months of my arrival they were off to take a sabbatical in France for a year.
Continue reading “Beautiful, weird, complicated human beings.”
I’ve been sitting around my apartment all day, since I woke up at 9:22AM, avoiding the very thing I am doing right now, writing.
Desperate for distractions I’ve made two cups of coffee with my new aeropress and grinder (which were delicious by the way). I’ve spent hours needlessly scrolling over pages of the internet that I don’t care to read. I unsubscribed from a bunch of emails then did some laundry. I signed up for a surf lesson at West Edmonton Mall, made soup (well, I warmed up a can of soup), and picked up then put down my ukulele, repeatedly.
I’m listless and I’m restless. And realistically, for me, exactly what I should be doing is writing. It helps.
Continue reading “Desperate for Distraction”
I can feel myself perched precariously on the edge of a cliff. I’m facing north, carefully balancing on the arches of my soles. The rocks under my feet, rugged, sharp protrusions formed out of the lost wilderness into now towering beasts.
The wind beats at my back. I lean into it. The cool throbbing breeze comes in waves, whipping around me in a whirlwind. Shadows form across the ridges and behind the sparse pines where the sun cannot see. The crips mountain air tumbles my hair obscuring my view. Still I lean into the wind, refusing to cease.
It would be easy enough to fall forwards, just give in. ‘Let the wind take you,’ I think. But I don’t. Instead I waver, back and forth. Stuck somewhere between where I want to be and where things seem to be taking me.
Problem is, forwards seems easy; as if giving up were easy. Forward feels like life defeat and peace in one fell swoop.
If I let go, if I tumble over this edge I don’t know if I could climb back out. I don’t know if I’d want to. That’s the problem with here and there, you can’t know if there is a place you can’t escape until you have firmly planted your feet on there’s soil.
So, I waver and wonder and puzzle and toil over things unknown. Because what else is there?