The Jump is Scarier than the Fall

The Jump was Scarier than the Fall

Last week I jumped head first, intrusting my life in a harness.  I've wanted to bungee jump for ages, so I finally did it.  I looked forward to it all day, and it wasn't until I got the very edge, with my toes dangling over the edge that fear set in. At that point you're strapped in, you're standing there ready to jump, turning around isn't an option for anyone with a sliver of pride. So they count down ... 3...2...1 and then, you have no choice - you've comitted. If you try and run back, chances are the heavy cord would pull you down and make for a painful jump, you have to just dive foreward and make the most of the fall. So that's what I did.  I jumped. And all that anticipation, all the fear, came together into an exhilerating surge of adrenaline as gravity took over.  And then, as quickly as it started, the free fall is over, and you're back on your feet as though you'd never took the plunge at all. I guess this is how my life feels right now, I've got my toes dangling over the edge.

6 weeks.

In 6 weeks, everything changes.

 

Leaving my home city is something i've idealized in my head for years.  Since half way through highschool i've dreamed of packing everything, giving this city a wave and returning only for major holidays -- at which point everyone will express how desolate their lives feel without me, and perhaps throw a parade in my honour.

But now it's real.  Today I looked at the phone. July 23rd, it said. In other words: July just flew by without you noticing, just like August will.  'Home' is no longer going to mean anything.  In a sense, home is my parent's house -- but even that feels like somewhere that I left memories, and I no longer hold any personal attachment to.  My room now will soon be filled with other people's things, and they won't give thought to the conversations I had in there, the things I learned while sitting against that wall, the cries I had in that room.  And why would they? It will be more theirs than it is mine.

Rediscovering myself scares me, a little bit.  What if I don't like who I am without all my stuff? What if Hilary, without her friends, family and church has become quite a disgusting person? 

What if I wake up one morning and realize I don't want to come back?

rain.

Holiday Monday, and it's raining.
 
As Shiny Toy Guns would say, "On a rainy Monday..." 

I woke up to this soggy day and was moderatly put out that the tanning session I had planned for today would have to be put on hold.  But something about rain is nostalgic.  As I sit near my window with a cup of hot tea, I find the rain strangely comforting.  Maybe because you can't really do anything.  You can attempt to do your errands and get soaked and frustrated, but if you just accept the fact that it's raining and sit inside reading a good book with a hot drink, you will have a lovely day.  It's funny, how we coinside rain with so many varying emotions.  When we feel depressed and alone, the rain speaks into our hopelessness.  It's dreary nature feeds the addictive nature of our misery.  And yet, when in the rain with someone we love - or something we think we would like to love, there is nothing more magical than being together, shivering and soaked.   In some senses, rain will reflect whatever we want it to.



I think one of the reasons I loved England so much was the rain.  We were constantly forced to stay inside and be comforted by our own company, and of course our tea.  Then when the sun finally did come out it was like everybody transformed and was happier and layed outside all day.  But without the rainy days nobody would have cared about the sunny ones.  As much as everyone loves a sun scorched day, of all the elements I think rain holds the most emotional clout.


I really wasn't intending to parallell this to "hard times make you appreciated the good times" ... but it's kind of unavoidable.  Sometimes being stuck inside, forced to slow down and just breathe allows us to enjoy the sun that much more when it is shining.

Too busy - But not actually

These past few weeks have been quite busy.  I just realized that is how everyone starts their anual  Christmas letter. But with Michelle's wedding on Saturday, and starting at a few job, it seems there is rarely a spare moment to stop and just - breathe. A few years ago, I read a book called Too Busy Not to Pray. To be honest I don't really remember anything about the book... despite the fact that I wrote a paper on the thing.  But I guess the title says it all. But maybe instead, when referring to my life they should call it 'Too Busy to Care at all', or 'You're not actually that busy, you've just conviced yourself that you are as a cheap excuse to put God on the back burner.' 

It's interesting, I suppose, how the first thing to go from our daily routine when things get hectic is time with God.  When I'm on some weekend retreat, with 3 hours set aside for 'personal time' - oh, you can bet God and I are real close! But as soon as my evenings are full and I'm rushing between work and errands, the effort I put into my relationship with God slips pretty quickly.  I have friends like this.  We are great friends when they have the time. When all their other commitments are otherwise occupied or work slows down, that's when they call me and we go for coffee. Sure. It's still always a nice time, but when I look at our friendship from a step back I realize I'm not a priority in their life, it makes me realize that we arn't really friends at all. We are just two people who get along and hang out when there's nothing better to do.


So I guess what I'm gettting at here, is if I consider my relationship with God to be this important thing in my life, why do I have it on the bottom of the priority totem pole?

All. I. Want. To. Do. Is. Sleep.

Two nights of insomnia and I am at the breaking point.  I've tried it all... avoided caffine, washed my sheets, a 1am McDonalds run, tried lying there thinking of nothing and still - can't sleep.  You know that scene in fight club where he says with insomnia nothing's really real, everything gets the volume turned down.  Well it's true.  I've kind of gone through life's motions for the last two days on autopilot.

Right now I'm reading 'Through painted deserts' by Donald Miller. It's pretty good.  Perhaps when I have slept more than a couple hours I'll write something insightful about it, but now is not the time.  Right now it's just about Don and his friend driving around in a van and there is nothing more I can think of.  

I'm not even sure I could recall what I did today.  This blog is so pointless.  But I would just like to make a note that you should all appreciate sleep while you have it cause once you can't, you will wish for nothing more.

Adios for now.

I should like, get smart or something.

This September I am going back to school. I am super excited to move to Ontario, live in dorms, and dive into a new social pool.  I am less excited, however, to be drowning in reading and essays, feel underequipped and be under constant stress.  So, about a month ago I made a reading list for myself.  15 books I have to read before I go back to school.  For someone with the reading compasity of Twilight, this is kind of an undertaking.  And no, there is no Nicolas Sparks on the list.  I pretty much looked up '100 books to read before you die' and picked the ones that didn't sound stupid or I hadn't already read.

So here's my list:

(1) Dubliners- James Joyce [which I am finished]

(2) Atlas shrugged- Ayn Rand [I think I can get a scholarship out of this one]

(3) Pride and Prejudice- Jane Austen

(4) Age of Innosence- Edith Wharton

(5) Searching for God knows what- Donald Miller

(6) Through Painted Deserts- Donald Miller [Currently reading...]

(7) Fight Club- Chuck Palanhniuk [Finished]

(8) On the Road- Jack Karuak

(9) Nineteen Eighty Four- George Orwell

(10) Catcher in the Rye- JD Salinger

(11) The time traveller's wife- Audrey Niffenegger

(12) Alice in Wonderland- Lewis Carroll

(13) Life of Pi- Yann Martel

(14) A Tale of Two Cities- Charles Dickens

(15) The Lovely Bones- Alice Sebold

At the bottom of Everything

So I've gotten in this strange habit where as soon as I write a blog post I will think of a bunch more random junk that I feel like writing about and then like ten minutes later I will post another one.  Tres lame, I know.

I was just organizing the chaotic collection of photos that have accumulated on my laptop during the past couple years.  I know I write about travelling a lot, but that's because it's one of the few things I am passionate about.  I'm not one of those people that has a hobby that they devote all their time to.  I literally work to travel and live a little bit of life in between here and there.  One of my favorite parts about travelling is the airports.  Kind of strange, I know.  There is something I very much appreciate about the awkward lag time at the gate.  No matter how long you have, you feel rushed-- and yet you are just killing time.  People will talk about being all alone in a sea of people.  I seldom feel that way, but the airport is the perfect example.  For some reason everyone feels the need to look important and it's as though wherever they are going is the be all and end all of life as we know it.  All airports are so different and yet they all have this interesting feeling of emptyness about them.   There are few things I like more than getting a latte and people watching while I wait for them to call my flight.

By the way, if you were waiting for me to get to it... this airport appreciation session doesn't really have a point.  

I have certain little rituals that I have crafted quite beautifully when it comes to my travel experience.  For example, while I wait for them to call the flights I like to listen to "Hello, I'm Delaware" by city and colour because it talks about "there goes my life with every departing flight"... and there is something identifyable about the fact that I am wasting my life that way too.  Then, when I'm on the plane... usually right after we've taken off I pop in Bright Eyes "At the bottom of Everything." You might recall that this is the song with the schpeel in the beginning about the plane crashing. It's comforting.  Then I like to flip through the emergency landing pamphlet and laugh about the scene in Fight Club where Brad Pitt talks about the smiling expressions on the people's faces despite the fact that their plane is crashing.  Then, to finish off the flight I usually listen to "Comin home" by city and colour.  I just realized how ridiculously specific this is, but I actually do it every time.  Give it a try sometime.  You might not seek as much comfort in Connor Oberst describing a plane crash as I do, but you never know.

I kind of hate people that just blog about things they like and random junk I don't care about, but .... I just did it.  So my sincere apologies for wasting for my own narrsistical purposes.  But now you have some insight into my well crafted art of the flying experience.

Just me

A rainy day in Kirkland

Once again I just returned from Seattle. It was wonderful. The west coast is truly a beautiful place.  The people think more and the coffee's better.  But that is completely irrelevant.

Lately I've been thinking quite a bit about lonliness. And not in the "poor me, I'm so lonely" kind of way. I've kind of been appreciating it.  For the most part I have always thought of myself as the furthest possible thing from an introvert.  I used to love being with people all the time -- the more people the better. People, people, people.  

This week all my roommates went away for reading week and it's just me and my fluffy maltese left in the house.  The first night was awful. I was so scared couldn't sleep and I had to text a friend until I got so tired I passed out, phone in hand.  But as the days go on and I wake up and go to sleep in an empty house I am begining to appreciate having to deal with myself.  I don't know how we think we know ourselves.  When your constantly surrounded by people and music and tv and everything else you can kind of forget what you're like to be with.  It's like... I knew myself in the sense that I knew how I reacted to being with other people, but that seems to be only one aspect of it.  When it's just me... hanging out with myself, I can realize what I'm really like without everyone else's influence.


The other day a friend of mine posted that "loneliness is underrated." I think it's kind of true. I kind of like to be lonely sometimes.