Reuniting with an Old Friend

I set out with my friends and a birding acquaintance of theirs to northeastern Massachusetts, so that we might get a glimpse of the reported rarities and, for us, being from a land-locked part of the state, the equally obscure coastal birds.  We witnessed some beautiful birds, including the west-coast Townsend’s warbler, a lost Cassin’s kingbird, which should be in Mexico right now, an elegant great blue heron, and the strange-looking surf and white-winged scoters.  The hotspot for observing the coastal birds on our trip was the Park River National Wildlife Refuge on Plum Island, for which we bundled up to keep the chill of the frigid sea wind at bay. 

I strolled along the boardwalk, whose construction seemed to match that of the steady rise and fall of the sand dunes over which it was built.  As I neared the end of the boardwalk, I kept pausing to stand on my tip-toes and peer over the last row of sand dunes in anxious anticipation of the sight of the vast, blue ocean.  Finally, I saw it, but only a slight glimpse.  My heart skipped a beat; I felt like a kid in a candy store, exhilarated over what was at last within my grasp.  In between my last few peeps over the dunes, I jogged to the end of the boardwalk, past the birders on the landing, and down the sand-covered stairs.  I could barely contain my excitement with a broad smile stretched from ear to ear, as I stumbled through the shifting sand. 

As I approached the compacted, ocean swept stretch of the beach, I slowed my pace and heartily greeted my long-lost friend.  I stood as close as I dared to the incoming surf, inhaling that brisk, salty air and allowing the power of the wind and waves to reinvigorate my soul.  I fancied the waves instigating a chase, as they crashed into the shore and the bubbling, white foam glided up the beach towards my feet.  Instead of permitting such an attack, I crouched down just out of reach, and extended my arm to gently caress my friend, letting it know that I’m here, that I care, that it’s been missed.

With no end in sight over the horizon, the great, expansive ocean always serves as a reminder to me how insignificant myself and humanity, in general, are, and how mysterious life can be, full of secrets and unknowns.  Yet, there is a beauty in it that extends to humanity and to life itself, which trumps the negative that we might find in them.  It opens our eyes to the endless possibilities and the wonder of uncertainty; it humbles us.  I find the ocean to be inspiring and revitalizing, seeming to change who I am and how I reflect upon this life.  And so, once again, I long to be reunited with that friend, which has so dramatically affected me and changed my frame of mind, my outlook on life.

Pushing the Pain Aside

I need to get away from home.  There are too many reminders, too many memories.  I find myself being drawn back into the hurt, the longing, and the hope, which really doesn’t exist.  I have my good days and my bad days, but I’m often finding myself overwhelmed by my emotions, causing me to retreat inside of myself, once again, in the hope that isolation and wallowing in self-pity will yield healing.  But it doesn’t. 

I can’t talk to him about this because it’s not fair to him.  It’s not his problem.  We’re not in a relationship anymore and this is my own burden to bear, my own emotional hurdle to overcome.  It’s not fair to bring him down with me, when all he did was what was right for himself.  I also can’t blame him for our past relationship problems because I should have addressed them in the moment when they were relevant.  There is nothing to learn from reopening old wounds, especially if he has forgotten them or never even affected by them.  It would only cause further pain, renewed resentment, and hostility. 

Yet, how can I cast my feelings aside when I interact with him?  I feel like I’m lying, pretending that all is well, as if I have completely let go.  I don’t feel like I gave the impression of that in my e-mail, in which I sought to reestablish our friendship, as I concluded with my uncertainty of being strong enough to handle this, and figured that I needed to start somewhere.  Perhaps, that’s what it is to be a friend, to put all of your own issues aside, so that you can be present, and offer your undivided attention and full support to your friend.  I make a point to have limited communication with him for these reasons, and hopefully, he knows that he can contact me if he’s in need.  I also hope that, if that time comes, I will be able to set my feelings aside and just be his friend.

What Is Friendship?

When I think of friends, I think of my two close friends back in high school.  We were integral parts of each others' lives.  We saw each other every day, talked all the time, spent loads of time together, shared our secrets, struggles, and all of the stupid stuff.  I suppose that's the ideal that I'm trying to attain again, since I lost those friends a long time ago, due to a fight between them and me devoting nearly my entire focus to my serious boyfriend.

Realistically, I know that I will likely never again have friendships like that because life gets in the way more and more as we age.  Life was simpler in high school with only our relatively insignificant teenage problems to deal with.  This is one reason why I savor my internship time so much because it brings me back to the kinds of close friendships that I remember; since, when living and working together constantly, we have little choice, but to be totally involved in each others' lives.

Yet, ultimately, that experience comes to an end and I am brought back to reality, in which I continue to struggle to understand what friendship is.  I know that friends aren't constantly in touch with each other, but will be there when you need them most, different ones in varying situations.  I suppose keeping these instances in mind will help me to determine who really wants to continue to be my friend.  However, I still find it difficult to determine who my friends are and what everyone's levels of comfort are.  I don't care for the idea of sharing really simple things, like a detailed account of my entire day.  I probably wouldn't even want to hear about that, especially nowadays.  I enjoy philosophical discussions, but it's easier for me to write them out because I'm able to take time to think things through and organize them into something that makes sense to me, rather than resembling the jumbled in my head.  I'm aware that not everyone feels this way though, so my emails end up being monologues.

I know that people are only able to contribute what they can, and I understand and accept that.  What frustrates me is the uncertainty, when I don't know what their situations are.  I have some friends, who I rarely hear from, being busy, but I know from past personal discussions and my history with them that they truly do care.  Then, there are other people who will send me a couple of e-mails, when we're only just reconnecting or getting to know each other better for the first time; and then, I'll hear nothing from them for months, not knowing why because I don't know what's going on in their lives.  I usually end up taking it personally, assuming that they don't care or I don't fit into their schedules anymore, especially if it's been several months.  There's no way to know for sure what the deal is, unless they tell me.  Novel concept.

I try to not have such high expectations for people because it's not fair to them; and they shouldn't have to meet my standards, particularly if I don't even meet them all the time.  I'm still working on this.  And I do trust easily, unless there's really something that unsettles me about someone.  I don't like judging people outright.  Generally, it takes me a bit to warm up to new people and I do act a bit differently with different people, based on how we connect, what we connect on, how comfortable I feel with them, how our personalities fit; any number of things.  But the initial trust and openness is still there.  I don't know if it's good or bad, but it's gotten me this far.

The Future of Relationships

When we were young, the idea of a relationship was something new and exciting that had more to do with attraction than anything else.  Oftentimes, we were seeking a person who we were physically drawn to without paying much mind to personality, values, goals.  Relationships were simpler then, even though they never seemed to at the time, drama frequently ensued with school age romances.

More recently, I’ve noticed that I am able to step back and analyze my thoughts and feelings in this department, and I am more often considering my long-term interests.  Perhaps, this is because I have become increasingly focused on my individual future, trying to plan ahead, and figuring where I would like to be on my career path in a few years time.  This, in itself, has proved to be quite challenging, but it gets me into this mindset of long-term planning, wants, and needs.  Maybe, simply aging contributes to this frame of mind, as chemical balances shift, kicking in the animals instinct to find a stable, suitable mate, with whom to copulate and raise young in the most primal sense. 

However, I would like to believe that this instinct isn’t solely what drives me, especially since kids aren’t even in any long-term plan of mine.  It does make sense, though, that at a certain age, we get the inkling to settle and begin to only date individuals who might fit in with our plans, into our lives, balance our personalities, and share our beliefs and values.  Others become not worth the time if one knows that it will not work in the future, if something about those individuals or their plans don’t jive.

Rethinking Worthiness of Love

Dear Friend,

As of late, you have frequently come to mind, as I remember the happy moments and the things that I loved about you, and recognize the weaknesses of our relationship, allowing me to better understand why it was not meant to be.  I also keep coming back to the question of how much I am contradicting my beliefs on love by revoking my love and support for you, as you follow your heart and do what makes you happy.  For a time, it was understandable.  I needed to take several steps back, reflect, let go, and take care of myself, which I initially could not seem to do while still being a part of your life. 

However, this question became even more poignant yesterday.  First, I faced a birthday party invitation from an estranged relative, who no one in the family, except her own children, on occasion, has spoken to in about fifteen years.  I was still young then, and wasn’t hugely involved with or affected by this separation, and yet, I held a grudge against her simply because others did, following their experiences with her.  Within the past year, she seems to be trying to make an effort to reach out through holiday and birthday cards, which she hasn’t sent in all these years.  I wonder if she is turning over a new leaf and wanting to reconnect with family, having learned a lesson that life is lonely without these loving relationships.  I find myself pitying her situation, or at least what I perceive it to be.  I want to open myself up to her and give her a chance.

Later that day, I was reading an article, which addressed how we often hold our own ideas and beliefs in such high regards that we tend to look down upon and severely judge those who have dissimilar views or are struggling with something that we label as inherently bad.  The article was primarily directed at the pretentiousness that religion can incite, so that such religious and spiritual individuals are only capable of acting with kindness and love towards people like them.  But this can be found anywhere and in anyone, which the article pointed out later on.  It’s not fair to deem someone unworthy of love, simply because one does not understand or condone what another does. 

This all relates to you because I feel that I have been selfish by ignoring you and blocking you out of my life, and feeling bitter over the turn of events.  Yet, this doesn't benefit anyone.  This negativity does not help me to come to any sort of resolution, it does not make me feel like a good person for abandoning you, when I’m sure that you still struggle, as we all do, and it frustrates me that I seem to be unable to stand by my mantra of being happy with whatever makes you happy.  Now, I am giving others a second chance by letting go of my grudges, and I don’t believe that this should exclude you.

I am still uncertain of my strength and courage, being put to the test of this new, potential dynamic between us, but I need to start somewhere. 

Getting Stronger

It was the hardest break-up, and yet, at the same time, the easiest break-up.  It was hard to believe that I was so easy to leave, as I am usually the first to throw in the towel in what seems to be a failing relationship.  Yet, I was blinded to that possibility, and I found myself stuck in the role of the lover struggling to let go and move on.  I believe that is what has made everything about this so difficult, still being totally in love and uncertain of how to deal with the emotional aftermath.  I was still stuck on the fact that this had been a kind of love that I had never experienced before.  We had come so far and overcome so much, and I thought that we would continue on sharing our challenges, thoughts, and goals.  Yet, I took this for granted and didn't share my outlook with him, perhaps because I was still fearful of the degree of commitment that he desired and that I didn't feel I could provide.

On the other hand, for only the second time in my life, I’m happy to be on my own, which has made the separation easier. With my constant string of relationships, it has been uncommon to find myself truly single.  My first significant experience with this when I ended my first long-term relationship was characterized by such traumatic withdrawal that I expected love to always end in this way.  So when the second long-term relationship ended, I expected the worst, but the worst didn’t come, and in its place arrived a sense of relief and freedom.  For a time, I wasn't sure if this feeling was real, perhaps some kind of fluke.

Now, that feeling has become stronger, once I began to come to terms with and accept my loss.  There is no one to consider, no one to consult; all I need to think about is me.  There was a time in my life, not too long ago, when that would have scared me, to be alone with myself and forced to sort out my own life.  But instead, I welcome it.  I want to get on with my life.  I even find that I alone take up an incredible amount of my own time and energy.  So I begin to wonder, how is it I balanced it all before, my individual life and a developing relationship?  Maybe, in the moment, I was able to manage the demands of a relationship, or perhaps, I simply gave less of myself to me.  Now, it’s my time, and I thank my former lover for that gift.

Broadening Horizons

Dear Friend,

I wouldn't say that any single culture is solely responsible for harboring individuals, who are full of themselves and narrow-minded. There are lots of people like that out in the world and, perhaps, we notice it more in the cultural group, to which we belong. This is also partly why I typically don't hold Americans in very high regards, since there seems to be a prescribed way to do things, to feel, to behave, and anything different is wrong within this society. Although, maybe this is a stereotype that I've formed based on my limited life experiences and the media's portrayal of American culture, or at least, how they think it should be.

Then, perhaps, I am just as narrow-minded as those, who I am condemning, as I refuse to be open to their beliefs and ideas about the way things should be because there isn't just one way.  I try to stop and think about these things when I find myself being overly judgmental.  I find that, usually, when I am judging something or someone most intensely, it is because I have a similar flaw within myself, upon which I need to improve.  I still struggle with this though, as we humans have this strong desire to define and classify what is right and wrong; valiantly upholding the right and harshly condemning the wrong, not allowing room for a middle ground.

Yet, I do believe that there is truth to the idea that traveling broadens one's horizons and opens one's mind to alternative ways of thinking and living.  We are allowing ourselves to grow and learn.  Whether we know it or not, we are changing during this travel time, so that we are no longer the same individuals upon our return home, where, generally, all remains the same.  However, in any kind of relationship, the parties involved need to grow together, in order for it to continue to work, otherwise it becomes stagnant and unhealthy.  The latter is often how I feel when I return home, as if I need to fit myself back into the Ann mold that exists here in this environment.  But it doesn't work very well and I end up finding myself miserable and unmotivated.  I'm not living for the same things as I was when I was off in the world and I find it difficult to change my outlook, change my environment.  Perhaps, one day, I will come to appreciate home for what it is and not what I expect it to be.

Maybe in our little community in British Columbia, we all shared that traveling mentality, which allowed us to be more open, accepting, and inviting.  I do think that the small, personal communities of individuals make a difference in feeling a sense of unity and belonging.  Our commonalities, as well as our differences, bring us together.  Not to mention, in an environment where we are confronted with the same individuals on a day-to-day basis in work and home life, we have the opportunity to become closer and more connected.  This is one of the things that I really love about internships, developing a close-knit community.  Unfortunately, outside of that environment, life tends to take its toll and distance can overcome these connections, since one is no longer able to interact with those individuals in the same way.  Also, as we get older, life gets in the way, and we tend to focus only on ourselves and individuals in our immediate surroundings.

It's not ridiculous to feel the way that you do or to have experienced so much love from an unfamiliar group of individuals.  Anything is possible.  I do remember in one of our first conversations when you said that you didn't trust people very readily and generally had your guard up.  I'm so happy that we all helped to restore a bit of your faith in humanity and recognize that there are trustworthy people, who are also capable of much love, caring, and support.  I hope that you continue to find this in life.

A Quote for Thought

"That is the true experience of freedom: having the most important thing in the world without owning it."
-Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes

Scattered Thoughts

After working for a few years at the Northampton Starbucks, I dreaded the thought of moving there within a bustling city in 2008, in which running into my customers was unavoidable, in spite of the convenience of a shorter commute to work and my social life.  But now, on the bus ride this morning, I felt excited to return.  This time, it feels more like home, like a better fit.  Granted, it still has its problems, but the city seems to make greater strides towards progressivism and boasts far more local and independent businesses than my chain store dominated home town of West Springfield.  It certainly has a lot to do with the citizens of Northampton, their mentalities, values, and interests.  There’s also a greater feeling of community, or at least sub-communities that are easily accessible.  Again, much of it may be an illusion, my rosy picture of how I remember the city.  I’m reminded of it during my travels, as I identify communities with a similar feel for me, like Salt Spring Island and Bend, Oregon.

Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to be settled, to have my life organized, and to be an integrated part of a community.  That’s the real allure: community.  Communities have been established during my internships, but seem to be not meant to last.  When permanently settled, one can get involved in all of the organizations and volunteer activities that one desires, making long-term connections, seeing struggles through, and being a part of the successes.  I am fortunate to be continuously welcomed back into the contra community, though I feel that it might be different and even more worthwhile if I had greater involvement.  It seems like it might be easier to live out life in one place, where one’s support, love, comforts, and familiarities all exist.

Sometimes, I consider this, but I soon shake myself from this reverie and remember that this is not what I seek.  Maybe someday, but not right now.  There are still many places to travel, causes to contribute to, adventures to be experienced.  I can’t have two very different lives or aspects of these lives existing at the same time.  It’s just not possible, so I am forced to prioritize and keep my mind set in the direction of my goals.

By being bitter, I am still playing the victim, four months following the break-up, and I have not truly let go.  I feel as if I have been boasting my capability of holding a grudge for this long.  If I’m bitter, how can I truly be happy for him or supportive of what he wants for himself?  If I haven’t let go, then am I expecting something in return, some sort of amends?  If this is true, then how can I really say that I loved him, since I am not acting as such now and living up to my own ideals of what love is.  I am still letting his past actions affect me and control my happiness, for how can I be truly happy with such a burden to bear?  These questions make me reconsider my behavior.  For awhile, it was acceptable, or at least understandable, but there comes a time, when I need to toughen up, move on, and stop feeling sorry for myself.

The Beginning of Current Occupation: Volunteer

When I first started filling out forms that ask for your current occupation, I never thought much about this word, “occupation”, as I quickly scribbled down “student”.  I was a student for about twenty-three years of my life, and following graduation, I hesitated at that “occupation” line.  I was quite reluctant to fill in “barista” as my occupation during the first year after I had earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in Environmental Studies.  I felt occupation to be synonymous to career, something that one aspired and dedicated oneself to in life.  I was far from passionate about making people’s coffee, especially not for the rest of my life.

Yet, as unhappy and frustrated as I was with my “occupation” and the general path of my life, I felt powerless to do anything about it.  Often, I would hear of the travels and adventures of friends and acquaintances, which caused an upwelling of jealousy.  However, it was unfair of me to feel this way towards these individuals, who were making the most of life and really living it.  I wanted to travel.  I wanted to do something different, something meaningful.  I didn’t feel like I could accomplish that by staying around my hometown, my comfort zone, and following along the path of building a successful career, becoming financially stable, settling down, and starting a family.  It just didn’t feel right for me, and was the cause of some shuddering.  It took me, well, a lifetime really, to build up my courage and self-confidence, but one year was the most pivotal for me to take a risk and make a change.

In the spring of 2009, I took a chance and applied for a position doing trail work in Vermont for part of the summer, for which I was accepted.  Around this time, I also booked a one way ticket to Seattle, Washington, with a plan to visit friends and to travel the west coast for the very first time and on my own.  My adventure had begun.

Since then, I have held two internships abroad in the fields of marine biology and wildlife rehabilitation.  I find the work to be extremely rewarding and fulfilling.  I feel that, in some small way, I am making a difference, just as I had longed to do. 

In addition, this time has provided opportunities to reflect upon and learn from my travels and experiences.  Even returning home seems to offer new lessons.  And so, I hope that through my writing, I may also be able to make a difference, to inspire, to teach, or to entertain, at the very least.

Night Without Power

In spite of the lack of electricity, the previous two nights were still abuzz with noise and activity, as the radio blared and broadcasters rambled on.  Other than this, all of us remained silently engrossed in listening to the radio jargon, reading or our own thoughts, while gazing into the brightly burning orange flames of the fire.  It felt as if we had never lost power, as if the television had somehow risen above this obstacle, as the radio ran on long into the night in its place.

Yet, tonight, the radio was switched off in mid-evening, partly due to the disc jockey’s tired old rant on United States immigrants.  I seized the opportunity to entertain, enlighten, and share something of my world, and I offered to continue aloud my reading of Under the Sea Wind, written by Rachel Carson.  She spins a captivating narrative of the beauty, danger, and reality of life at sea and within the coastal waters from first-hand perspectives of a variety of species from the birds in the sky to the fish in the sea.  She introduces all of the creatures encountered along the life journeys of each of her characters and paints detailed pictures of the places that they might call home.  The key characters are given names to make their stories more personal, so that we might identify with their struggles and rejoice in their successes. 

As I read, I recalled my days as a child, huddled under covers next to one of my parents, listening to a bedtime story.  It was as if our roles had reversed, although, I don’t believe that I put anyone to sleep, since there was no snoring coming from the direction of my dad’s seat on the couch.  We finished the book and seemed to remain in quiet contemplation.

I roasted marshmallows for everyone and my fingertips and face burned from my nearness to the flames.  It was an in credible shift in temperature, as a slight chill had been creeping over me at the opposite end of the room, while I had sat in the rocking chair, reading with a fleece blanket in my lap. 

Now, as I write, only the crackling of the fire and the restless movements of my dad are the only noises that remain, as nighttime settles about the house.

Transformation of Friendship

It’s been a long time since I finished a book in a single sitting, a matter of hours.  I believe the last time it happened was at least four years ago when I flew through Burmese Days months before the respective assignment was due for my history course.  The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants was filled with lessons of friendship, of love, of life, of learning about oneself.  It made me laugh and it made me cry.  I got anxious and I got excited.  I became angry and I became reflective.

The reflection is coming on stronger, now that I have finished reading and had a bit of time to digest it all.  What is most painfully noticeable is that I miss my friends.  I always find myself coming back to this, no matter how old I get.  My mind drifts back to the close knit friends, particularly from high school, during a time when we were trying to understand ourselves, make sense of life, and dabbling in love.  We were each others’ worlds, offering comfort, support, courage, fun, unity.  Perhaps, this is just a romanticized notion of how friendship should be, an ideal that I desperately keep grasping for, even though it continues to fade away into a bleak abyss.

In adulthood, friendships like that don’t exist anymore, at least not long-lasting.  Now, it is all about time, place, convenience.  We seem to enter each others’ lives for a short time for some unknown purpose, which will change us, change our lives.  And then, in a flash, just when it seems true, just when it feels real, it’s gone, and I am left with the reality that I really only have me.  It becomes more challenging as life presses on and our worlds expand to maintain friendships, even those that meant the most to us because we can’t be everywhere at once.  There are so many limiting factors and we must take care of ourselves first, so that we may be capable of showing compassion for others.  Yet, too often, I think we take over our own lives.  It becomes difficult to see outside of our immediate surrounding, especially since there is always so much going on. 

           

I am not looking to find fault in anyone.  I am not pointing fingers.  I am just as guilty in this as anyone else, having gradually abandoned the friends, who I now long for or at least the memory of our friendship, in the face of a blossoming romance.  I was responsible for isolating myself, finding myself alone once love had faded.  Now, when I find myself picking out the flaws of others, I try to catch myself and reverse that scrutiny back upon myself, for I know that I am guilty of the same negative behaviors that are so obvious to me.  As I identify these, I try to improve upon them as I am able and willing, yet some may remain with nothing more than a longing, a hope, or a memory.

West to East Coast Travel

I am grateful to have a home, a place to come back to when there is nowhere else to go, where I receive constant love and support, and have time to regroup.  I was better able to appreciate it upon this homecoming for at least two reasons that I have identified.  Firstly, the culture shock is significantly less, as Salt Spring Island was not nearly as isolated as Sherkin Island, complete with shops, traffic, and crowds of people, especially during the summer months and at the Saturday market.  Salt Spring seemed somewhat similar to Western Massachusetts, perhaps like the Hilltowns or a smaller version of Northampton, except surrounded by water. 

Secondly, I keep forgetting how much I dislike the traveling part of traveling.  The flight out of Redmond, Oregon was quite nice, during which I was able to gaze in awe upon the landscape, since the plane was at a low enough elevation.  It passed over some of the snow-capped mountains, most likely those a part of the Cascade Mountains’ chain, which gave me such a different perspective of them, seeing the topography from above, which looked as if the ridges and divots of the mountains had been chiseled into the rocky, nearly deserted landscape.  I had become so accustomed to looking out at the horizon, where these giant formations hold their ground, yet I still felt intimidated by these pronounced forms surrounding and looming over the town.  I am more familiar and at ease with the hill-like mountains of the east coast.  I am still unable to comprehend elevations at which snow exists on top of mountains and they seem like giants even from hundreds of miles away.

On the second flight, from Seattle to New York City, I was hoping to sleep through the majority of it, being overnight travel.  Unfortunately, it was quite uncomfortable seating for a cross-country flight, I was freezing even with three layers on, and I kept having this internal dilemma about whether or not to wake up my seat mates to use the bathroom.  As a result, I slept for less than two of the five and a half hour flight.

When the plane landed in New York, it was raining as the weather report had predicted, but fortunately not down-pouring, as I made my way to the airtrain pick up spot.  The airtrain ultimately went to a couple of stations outside of the airport grounds, but there were two or three stops before that at different sections of the airport.  From the location that I had gotten on at, anyone could ride the airtrain, and since people who are transferring between flights use the airtrain between terminals, I do not believe that there is any kind of established security check.  Who’s to say that any random person could walk into an airport terminal and avoid security?  Maybe there is something in the system to prevent such an incident that I do not know about, but it seemed pretty sketchy to me.  Other than that little detail, the airtran was pretty low key, since few people tend to be up before the sun.

I transferred to the subway at Jamaica Station, and as soon as I saw those Metro Card machines, I knew that I was going to have troubles.  I am not at all a big city girl.  The last time I took the subway into Boston for a Peace Corps interview, my greatest difficulty was trying to figure out how to get the entry machine to read the Metro Card.  I felt like I had tried it every which way, but then one of the workers, I think, got the thing to work.  I felt incredibly silly, just as I did now in New York, with my huge pack and too exhausted to fully understand the picture instructions for how to insert the Metro Card.  That’s what my excuse will be, exhaustion.  Anyways, somehow, I finally figured out the machine all by myself and escaped through the gate into the railroad terminal.

Descending from here to the subway terminal was quite a shock to my system, as it was deathly hot and incredibly stuffy.  Of course there were already no seats once the subway pulled up, so I got amazing workout trying to hold myself upright with my pack against the momentum of the train.  As more people entered the train at each stop, I think I became a bit claustrophobic.  It was crowded and breathing became more difficult; I felt light-headed and nauseous; I was sweating profusely.  I had to get off of this train, otherwise I was sure to black-out, as these were the tell-tale signs.  I tried to hold out through a couple more stops, but finally decided that it wasn’t worth the risk, and so, I burst out of the train doors at the Queens stop, dropped my pack, stripped off my layers, and plopped down on the floor.  I was in no state to care what the people around me thought or what disgusting things had been on that floor.

After watching the E train pass by four more times, I mustered up the courage to get back on and ride it again, even though, I still didn’t feel quite right, but this probably wouldn’t be remedied until I got away from the subway system completely.  It was now rush hour and the trains were packed so full that people literally spilled out of the opened doors onto the platform, but managed to stay on their feet.  I chose a subway car that seemed slightly less crowded and I was able to at least prop my pack up against the wall where I stood.  Eventually, a seat became available and sitting down helped me to keep my horrible physical state at bay.

The subway finally reached Penn Station, where throngs of people were milling about in every direction, making it difficult to navigate around them or at least to avoid getting in anyone’s way.  I ducked into the nearest restaurant/café that offered seating, where I ordered a light breakfast and tried to calm my stomach and my nerves.  I decided that I was in no shape to go wandering around the city, and instead, I would simply remain at the station for the hours until my bus departed.  I learned that the seating at the center of the station was only for Amtrak and New Jersey transit customers and the unfriendly woman at the information desk seemed to believe that I was crazy for thinking that there could be a waiting area for bus patrons, since the busses didn’t stop at Penn Station.  Neither she nor anyone else could tell me about the location of the Megabus stop and all I had to go on was that somewhere between 31^st and 33^rd streets on 9^th Street, there it was, but that would be quite a distance to cover.  I decided to not worry too much about it until the time came closer to noon. Instead, I sat on the floor, propped up against a wall with one arm through the shoulder strap of my pack and my hat pulled far enough over my eyes, so that I could nod off occasionally without anyone suspecting that I was actually asleep.  This is how I spent about four hours waiting for the bus.

Finally, the time came and I suited up in my rain gear, while still sporting my crocs, and hiked over a block to 9^th Street, which seemed a lot longer than the distance in the station between 7^th and 8^th streets.  I was quite relieved, as I approached the next intersection, to see the obvious Megabus logo on a parked bus and signs around a fenced in area with tarp tents inside, just across the street.  I was even happier once I actually boarded the bus, knowing that I was on my way home, and cuddled up with my daypack and fell asleep.

Unfortunately, the combination of exhaustion, hunger, dehydration, and residual subway effects were taking their toll on me with a painful headache that lasted the entire ride home.  I felt horrible that I wasn’t able to express much gratitude for or excitement at seeing my parents when they picked me up at the terminal in Holyoke.  I shared with them some of what I had done in Oregon and they updated me on the happenings here, and soon after arriving at the house, I ate a banana, guzzled some water, took and ibuprofen, and fell asleep for a few hours to remedy my current health issues.  Amazingly, the headache was gone when I awoke, so I was better able to appreciate the comfort of home, after that long and uncomfortable trip.

Now, I find myself trying to regroup.  I had left my room in chaos when I left in May with half of my things packed into boxes, partly from moving back home last spring and partly anticipating my next move out, and the other half of my things set in random places, as an attempt at organization.  I don’t think I would have remembered exactly where I had left everything, even if my roommate hadn’t reorganized the room. It looks much tidier now, but the set up will make it difficult to live out of the boxes, as they are all now stacked upon each other.  I am also having difficultly remembering what little projects I had started or where I had paused with them.  I know that I was trying to get rid of unnecessary possessions, condense my life, but how far I got or what still needed to be sorted, I couldn’t tell.

Yet, even though I have this disoriented feeling, it also feels like I never left home.  For the most part, everything and everyone is the same as when I left.  All of the things that I’ve done and seen and the people who I’ve met seem like part of a dream, like some kind of time warp.  Maybe I fell asleep one night and entered into this alternate universe, also known as Canada, where five months is the equivalent to a matter of hours in my reality.  In spite of the strange feeling, I think that it’s pretty cool to have really lived a dream.

Leaving Salt Spring Island

It never seemed real that I was actually leaving until this morning.  I had been at the center long enough that it had not necessarily become routine, but a rather fixed part of my life.  It was difficult to imagine having done anything different with my life previously or doing anything else tomorrow into the future.  Even saying goodbye to the staff yesterday seemed unreal.  I found the near tears, well wishes, and praise to be quite humorous because I still felt as if I was not going anywhere and that I would see everyone tomorrow, and as a result, the scene seemed a bit too dramatic.  I did not feel like I was fully able to appreciate everything and everyone as much as I should for the last time.  I felt like it should be something more, with a big step back and time to reflect, as I did when I left Poulacurra after the last seashore survey.

Instead, today, I appreciated the work as I have come to do, after the many times of reminding myself how different it could be; working at a worthless, dead-end job and living in a place that I hate.  It felt like just another day, and so, I spent part of my evening cleaning the kitchen, even after having packed my belongings only a few hours previously.  Even as I sat talking with my friend past midnight, as if we always engaged in conversation in the kitchen at that hour, it was far at the back of my mind that this would probably be the last time.  I did not get to spend much quality time with everyone else, but again, it did not feel like a last night.  I also knew that most would be accompanying me to the ferry in the morning, not to mention that we had time aplenty together to make up for it.

I am extremely thankful that I was able to extend my stay.  My work here did not feel complete at the end of August, not to mention, I was not mentally ready and had no plans.  But also, I had grown to better appreciate the island and the center and I was only beginning to connect with my peers.  I longed for that sense of community, which seemed to be lacking during the first half of my internship.  It did not feel like the right time to leave.  Looking back now, I believe that it was a good decision and that it was not simply an excuse to stay longer in my newly established comfort zone and push off my departure into the unknown.

Leaving did not begin to feel real until I began the round of hugs at the ferry terminal, and then, it finally started to sink in; the likelihood that I will never see these friends again, the knowledge that another family is dispersing, and the realization that I will greatly miss their personal quirks.  As the ferry set sail, my British Columbian adventure started to feel like a distant memory, difficult to determine if it had happened at all.  It seemed too outlandish to be true.

Building Community

A greater sense of community has developed among the interns here for the second half of the season.  Perhaps, in the group before, we lacked an initiator, someone to really bring everyone together, helping to establish a homey kind of feel at the centre.  More time has been spent with others than individually, as we have shared meals, gone out on the town, watched movies, and camped out for sunrises as a group.

I was not conscious for the majority of the first sunrise trip, since it was well past my bedtime and I had to work early the next morning.  I slept during the car ride up to the top of Mount Maxwell, and then we hiked a short distance to the predetermined look-out spot, where I curled up on a rock face with some blankets and went back to sleep.  I was awoken just before sunrise the next morning and the view was already breathtaking.  We were overlooking Fulford Harbour and the islands beyond and the sky was just beginning to lighten up.  However, what we saw of the sun was through the trees, since we were facing south, so we determined to find a more advantageous spot for the next time.

The next sunrise was at Beddis Beach.  It felt a bit colder, even though we were a much lower elevation.  We had a fire, and of course, I soon fell asleep. At some point in the night, I was awoken by the delighted screams of my friends and was urged to get up and come to the water’s edge.  Someone ran their hands through the water and it sparkled, not like sunlight looks on the water, but instead, it looked like fairy dust as you see in the movies.  It has something to do with phytoplankton blooms and, most likely, some other conditions as well.  Rocks were tossed and everyone began playing with this magical looking substance.  Still being half asleep at the time, it now feels as if the whole thing were a dream.  This time, we were situated due east, so the sun popped up from behind the neighboring island right in front of us.  It reminded me of being back in Ireland with the sunrise right there, always in view, and the brilliance of the sun, gradually ascending into the sky.

Camping in Victoria

Nearly two months ago now, I took a day trip to Victoria with a friend. We managed to get up early to catch the second ferry out, in spite of working a midnight shift the night before.  We visited book stores, coffee shops, ate good food, and mostly wandered around and down to the coast, where you could look across the way to Washington state and off to the southeast, where a narrow strip of open ocean was visible.

Unfortunately, we neglected to check ferry times back to the island, and so, ended up arriving back at the terminal an hour after the last ferry had left for the night.  The security guard was very helpful and concerned and offered to pick us up from Denny’s, one of the few places open twenty-four hours, once he finished his shift and bring us back to the terminal to catch the first ferry out.  Instead, we figured that we would see some more of Victoria and not spend so much time camping out at Denny’s and the ferry terminal a few hours before it opened, so we headed back on the bus to downtown.  We caught some live music at one of the pubs near the waterfront, and tried to take advantage of any open businesses, where we could keep warm before settling down for the night, since we had decided to try sleeping in Beacon Hill Park.

It was a quiet night and quite chilly for August.  After about two hours of trying to sleep in the park, it became too cold to stay asleep any longer, particularly since we had not come prepared.  At that point in the night, all I could think about how my ex could have possibly spent an entire winter in New England like this and I could not even last one night of August in Canada.  He gained some more respect from me in that aspect.  So we started walking and came upon a seven eleven, where we warmed up, bought cereal, and got direction to the closest Tim Horton’s, which seems to be Canada’s version of Dunkin’ Donuts and is often open twenty-four hours.  The walk only took about half an hour and we spent another two hours in the doughnut shop sipping warm beverages and trying to not fall asleep.

We made it early to the bus stop and were incredibly relieved once the bus was in sight, as we knew that our ordeal was drawing to a close.  I managed to stay awake on the hour long bus ride, but passed out on the ferry, which felt like a longer travel time than it really was.  We were quite grateful to set foot again on Salt Spring Island, and once we got home, I went straight to bed, before working that afternoon.

First Seal Release

Today is the day of the first seal release.  We have come a long way together over such a short period of time.  The veterinarian pulled out pictures of some of the first seals from when they initially arrived at the center and, what a difference!  Those adorable, fluffy white creatures cowering in bath tubs have grown up to be big, fat sausages living it up in the above-ground pools.  That time has been a learning and growing process for us all with a string of challenges and successes along the way.   

To start, there was the fear of gavage feeding, for the seals, gradually coming to understand that this is what fills their bellies with food, and for the interns trying to master this technique for the first time.  Before too long, we were bombarded by seals, who could not be fed quickly enough, in spite of all our attempts to organize and hustle.  The older pups soon learned to swallow and eagerly awaited feeding time, and eventually, got booted out of isolation to the outdoor nursery pools to make room for the newcomers.  Even still, there were not enough tubs for all, so they began to be paired up, with some enjoying the company of a buddy, while others seemed to resent sharing and, sometimes, lashed out at their roommate when not distracted and less stressed by swimming at bath time.  They were slowly introduced to fish as play toys in their baths and some did not seem terribly interested, while others mutilated the fish, and a few special individuals quickly taught themselves to swallow it whole.  The pools became increasingly chaotic as more seals graduated to the outdoors, even with the addition of a fourth pool about halfway through the season.   

Currently, there are seventeen seals in isolation, many of which are awaiting their turn to be moved outside, especially since they have already mastered hand-feeding fish.  Only seven more seals have arrived within the past few weeks, and things are slowing down, compared to the forty-something seals crammed into isolation less than two months ago, demanding much attention.  Every day, these pups move one step closer to freedom as they learn to feed in the water or feed themselves by diving after the fish tossed in the pools.  Just a couple of days ago, four pups were witnessed free-feeding and these suspicions were confirmed by their drastic weight gain over a matter of days.   

Now, after arriving at under twenty pounds, our first four seals, weighing in at around sixty pounds each, will be released today from the northeast of the island.  It is apparently a seal haven a short swim from here with lots of rock beds, less populated islands, and likely a wealth of food sources.  I wonder at how they will fair, how easily they will be accepted by established herds, how much of a shock to their systems the sea will be, especially as they hunt for their own food.  It is a day of mixed emotions with sadness at seeing our babies head out into the real world on their own and happiness that they made it to this point; that together, we successfully achieved the mission that we had set out to fulfill.

Never Truly Alone

There are many things that I would like to write about, yet I find myself either too tired or overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness to contemplate and focus.  Typically, I look forward to my days off, as time to get away, relax, and take a break from work.  Yet, over the past few weeks, I have found myself more quickly becoming aware of how alone I am in the moment, in spite of knowing at the back of my mind that I am surrounded by friends and am loved by those at a distance from me.  Realistically, I am never truly alone; it’s just a matter of perception.  And perhaps, only now is the shock wearing off and the reality of having no lover to return to is really sinking in.  It may be for the best that I am staying here longer, so that I may have more time to adjust, while being amidst a blossoming community.

Over the past few weeks, a greater sense of comradery has been developing among the interns.  There is more support, generosity, responsibility, caring, and concern.  Unfortunately, there is little time left for this community to grow further.  We have not quite broken the surface.  It’s been more about having fun and not feeling alone in this relatively new, often stressful and unusual environment.   I want to open up more, but I’m not sure how or what I may share.  I also don’t fancy being the center of attention for any length of time, which is the obstacle that I ran into last night when I had an urge to share my poetry.  I lost the courage to put myself out there.  Perhaps, the moment was just not right either, as there was a focus on work.

Today, I felt the need to be by the water, so here I sit on Fernwood dock.  It sounded as if something was swimming about breathing forcefully beneath me, though I couldn’t see through the cracks of the dock or imagine what could possibly be in the water below.  There are six sturdy posts rooted in the turf and extending up through the dock to prevent it from shifting too violently.  I sat next to the opening among these posts and less than a meter away from me, the little face of an otter popped up above the water’s surface.  He stared at me and extended his neck, sniffing the air, perhaps trying to get a sense of who I was and my purpose here.  I smiled and greeted him, but he soon descended back into the watery depths.

Internship Dilemma

I’m not sure what to do regarding this first internship response.  I don’t think that I fully considered the steep cost of traveling abroad, as a flight to Australia is well over $1,000.  Most of my savings would be gone.  I think it’s a bit much compared to the few hundred dollars that it took to get to British Columbia.  Also, I shouldn’t just jump on the first opportunity that presents itself to me.  I have time and there are other options.  Traveling to Australia would be amazing, but I think I might like to reserve that for marine biology work.  Yet, with this current position, I’d get my fill of physical activity, rustic living, community atmosphere, and traveling the countryside.  Although, it would be the same route, the varying conditions and bowerbird behaviors would spice thing up.  It might take some time to rebuild my stamina and endurance, but I believe that I am fully capable of doing the work.  It’s that cost...  And truthfully, I was experiencing some doubt, while reading about the daily work routine as well.  Perhaps, I’ll bow out now and hold out for something else.  I want to go to the ocean, be on the coast.  That’s what I’ve been set on since I got here.  I shouldn’t settle.

Procrastination and Other Thoughts

I have been procrastinating with journaling.  Lots of little things happen on a day to day basis, eventually accumulating to a number that is overwhelming to consider tackling with the written word, especially as they have already begun to escape, as my memory is no steel trap.  That is my excuse, and limited time, I suppose.  When I am done with work, I do not feel like doing much of anything, even the things that I generally would like to do for myself.  I have to push myself out for hikes on my day off, otherwise, it might not happen, or any other physical activity for that matter.

On my hike yesterday, I got a wake up call to take it easy on myself and pay closer attention to all of my surroundings, as I stepped up and hit my head straight into a tree that was growing bent over the trail.  I sat down to recover and was sore for a bit, before continuing on up the hill, as I did not want that to be an excuse to end my time out.  Worse things could happen as deterrents, but as long as I learned my lesson, I would likely be fine.  I managed to avoid further bumps in this particular "road". 

Someone was looking at the wildlife center's pictures the intern computer, and the one that was still up on the screen was of a seal pup, when he first arrived in June. What a change!  It is hard to believe that only about two months ago, he was a fluffy white thing, far less than twenty pounds.  He is now nearly fully grown and fat and eating whole fish on his own in a big pool with other seals on the fast track to release.  They all seemed so fragile and helpless when they arrived in June and early July, as many of them were premature and abandoned by their mothers.  Developmental time is so short in much of the animal kingdom.  The birds are even more impressive, as they spend about a week shedding their downy, baby feathers, before they are on solid food, eating on their own, and then off to a woods’ enclosure until they are deemed ready for release.  The process takes no more than a month, it seems. 

Since interns have started to leave, it has become more essential for the rest of us to be trained on the remaining aspects of the seal department, such as caring for those at the outdoor pools.  It is quite different and far more thrilling to see them in their element, healthy and thriving.  Many of them are hand feeding in the water, eagerly following the fish that their feeder wriggles about, imitating live prey.  Once they figure out how to swallow for tube feeding of mashed fish, it does not take long for them to progress along the various stages of feeding development. 

Life's Trails

As I hiked in Ruckle Park yesterday, I could not help but be overly aware of the constant twists and turns in the trail.  Some were rather sudden and unexpected, perhaps more so because my attention had been momentarily distracted by my wandering mind and the development of a false sense of security in a relative consistency of the trail.  This reminded me a lot of life that nothing can really be anticipated.  Unexpected turns of events often occur without notice, jarring us out of our comfort zones, forcing us to react, to think outside of the box.  If we do not do so, we risk falling flat on our face and having to endure an even greater struggle to get ourselves back to the place at which we started.   

Occasionally, there would be something that looked like a trail diverging from the main one, often towards the cliff edges.  I felt myself drawn towards these pseudo trails out of a sense of curiosity and defiance of sticking to what had been laid out before me.  In these moments, Ralph Waldo Emerson's quote came to mind: “Do not go where the path may lead; instead, go where there is no path and leave a trail.”  I felt that it was quite fitting for this hike and as encouragement for the direction of my life.  I also encountered a number of obstacles along my way, including slippery slopes, steep cliff drops alongside, and downed trees.  Similar, to the natural turns in the trail, I had to approach these challenges differently, keep pushing on, and find my way when it was not so clear.   

Although, it is best to make a hike or life one’s own, it is also useful to draw on the experiences of others and follow where they have been to a certain extent, as I did mostly hike on an established trail, so that you can focus more on where you really want to go, focus on those twists and turns.  There is much to learn from the lives and lessons of others, even when it does not seem that it would be possible to learn anything from a particular person or something as small and simple as an ant or a flower.  It is all in the perspective, in which one views these things.  It is too easy to be judgmental and unappreciative of what is right in front of us.

Living a Dream

It came to me that just last year, I was looking down from cliff edges to the ocean below into the little faces of harbor seals, which were peeping out from the water’s surface, staring inquisitively back at me.  I had wondered what it would be like to interact with these creatures, how they live, what their personalities might be like.  At the present moment, while standing beside a bathtub containing a couple of hungry seal pups, I realized that I am doing exactly what I had set out to do.  It was to satisfy a curiosity if nothing else, and perhaps, blown out of proportion as I considered it to be my career destiny, but that is not what is important.  I am living what I am dreaming.  It may not necessarily be logical or rational, but it does not really matter.  Yes, I am searching for my calling in life, a passion that drives me, but in the meantime, I can create amazing experiences for myself.  How many people can say that they had the opportunity to work with wildlife, especially seals?  There are only so many organizations that have licenses to work with or research marine mammals.  This is not just the daily grind, even though it may feel that way, at times, with so much repetition, mounting demands, and stress.

Acceptance and Appreciation

I think that I’m beginning to accept the break-up and appreciate it for what it is and what we had.  Not everything works out in life the way that we want it to, so that, oftentimes, we find ourselves forced to seek alternative routes in learning life's lessons.  However, this is difficult to accept and plan for, since we lack such foresight and are typically resistant to change. Perhaps, he and I had learned all of the lessons that we possibly could from each other and our relationship at this point in our lives; however, this exchange may have also simply become much more challenging with the miles between us.

Yet, during our time together, I did learn that it is possible to love and maintain a strong connection at a distance, and that though love may falter, it doesn’t fade, as long as the desire and effort to rekindle it is still there.  I learned that I can truly be an individual and live my life rather separately from a significant other, and that I can pursue my dreams in this way without guilt and regret.  And the break-up itself is yet another lesson in letting go and not hanging onto and fixating on someone who is not there or something that cannot be changed. 

For now, the distance certainly helps to cushion this moving on process, since British Columbia lacks the reminders of home.  Yet, the reminders that I do experience have triggered the happy memories, instead of anxiety over the errors and disagreements that occurred during the relationship, which is a shift in my usual post-relationship focus.  In the past, there have usually been things that I could have done differently to make circumstances better, easier, or to make my relationships persist instead of fail.  Initially, I did resort to this mode of thinking, wondering what I did wrong this time.  Granted, there are always improvements to be made and this relationship was far from perfect, as we are both imperfect humans.  Yet, we simply grew apart, or he grew apart, as the case may be, and there is nothing that either of us could have done differently without making unnecessary self-sacrifices, which was never an option.  There is a reason for all of this, but it has yet to be revealed; only in time.

Wanting More

Why is it we always find ourselves wanting more, wanting something better, or even wanting something that we cannot have?  What is so unsatisfactory about the present?  It was once something that was wanted, but now that is has been attained, it is somehow less desirable.  Everyone here, interns and staff, are here for a reason; they have a passion for animals and caring for them.  Yet, we quickly get bogged down by the work, the rushing, the chaos, the schedules, so that we seem to forget about this overarching reason.   

At least it seems this way, we complain about schedules, long hours, shift disorganization, not enough time off.  Why would we necessarily want time off if this is what we wanted to be doing with our lives?  We should want to help and learn as much as possible in the limited time, for which we are here.  There is really little time for complaints.  And I certainly fall into this as well.  I look forward to my days off, so that I may relax and have time to myself, though this is important as well.  However, it is difficult to get myself going again and get pumped for work the next day.  

It is amazing how such a unique experience, doing something that one loves can so quickly become old hat, part of the daily grind.  What does this suggest?  Is it not one’s true passion?  Is it just challenging to love the job as a whole if there are certain aspects of it that are much less appealing?  Do we just take things for granted that easily?  It seems as if I constantly have to remind myself that I could be in a worse position, being stuck at home in some dead end job for the rest of my life.  I shudder at the thought.  Yet, I suppose that such an extreme is necessary to make me aware of what I really do have, instead of simply dwelling on the present negatives, which are quite miniscule in the grand scheme of things.

Lost Love

My love has left me and I cannot help but feel that there was something that I could have done to prevent it.  I could have done something differently, although I do not know what that something could have been.  I offered love, support, freedom, everything that one might want, but even this was not enough.  His love just petered out, as far as I can tell from what he says and what I struggle to believe.  I find myself torn between wanting him to be happy and having happiness for myself, as we are no longer united in a way for these to be analogous desires.  I find myself resenting him and then reprimanding myself for being so contradictory.  It is through these challenging times that I need to stand by my philosophies the most.  I need to let go.  Perhaps it was just not our time, or our time was just limited to this past year, when we needed each other in our lives the most.  I do not expect him to enter back into my life, as finished relationships never seem to work out this way, at least not for me.  There usually develops too much awkwardness and remains too much lingering emotion, longing.  Friendships with former lovers generally tend to not be sustainable, which I have always found to be unfortunate, but it is what it is. 

The positive point that I am trying to focus on and take away from all of this is that I now have even greater freedom.  I can seek out job/internship/volunteer opportunities the world over without the thought at the back of my mind about how a relationship will be affected and if I will still be able to maintain contact from wherever I end up.  Even though, I had greater access to electronic communication this time, it did not matter.  Though, it is a two way street, I suppose.  Uggh!  I am supposed to be focusing on the positive!  I can go anywhere I want, do anything I want, enjoy my life, my travels.  This is what I needed to do over a year ago, but I got a bit distracted.  Fortunately, not distracted enough to completely overlook myself, as I have done in the past.

The Flame Extinguished

If you love someone, then let them go, right?  But why would they want to leave if it’s true love?  I start questioning myself:  What did I do wrong?  Did I not cherish him?  Did I smother him?  Why am I so easy to cast aside?  I suppose, it was inevitable with the distance, his interest in seriously dating other women, the unknown time apart.  I gave him the freedom to leave, so why not take advantage of it to be with a woman who wouldn’t allow him that same freedom?

I feel like we’ve been out of touch with only the occasional Skype calls and Facebook chats.  How can that limited time cover everything that we’ve been going through and allow us to develop deeper discussions?  I feel resentful, but I don’t want to be.  It’s what I wanted him to do; live without regrets.  I should be supportive.  But it still hurts; it’s still going to be painful, as it is still a break-up. 

This was OUR worst fear, that we would fall in love with other people, that we would lose what we had.  We had so much!  We had something solid, founded in love, understanding, support, challenge.  Why wasn’t it worth the wait this time?  I’ve been missing him so much, and now he’s not even there.  I can’t go back.  He can only be a figment of my dreams.  This all seems so surreal.  It was unexpected, at least in the moment.  I was hoping it would never be true, that he would never leave, and I think that I actually believed that for a time because I knew how he felt.  Or so I thought.  I can’t really know what he's thinking, what he's feeling.  What DO I know? 

Perhaps, I needed to lose that light in my life, so that I can make my own.  Everything happens for a reason, right?  I do still need to work on myself and my goals.  And I couldn’t have done much else in the relationship; it’s a two way street.  I have no idea what’s going through his mind and I don't feel like I can trust his words, which are merely used to attempt to cushion the pain and make it easier for him to leave.  I don’t feel terribly special or important, even though he says he still cares.  I feel second rate, like an old rag doll (Raggedy Ann) cast aside, as her newness and charm has faded.  What use is she anymore, especially in a society of upgrades and commercialism? 

It is what it is.  Just let it be.  If I push and harass, it will only drive him farther away and I will be contradicting myself and my principles in love.  Let him be for awhile.

How Different Life Could Be

It is interesting to think that if I had made a slightly different decision from miniscule to major life choice, then I would not be where I am today; I would not be who I am.  It is also rather sad and a bit scary that my life would not be as it is, since, overall, I am happy with the direction, in which I am going, whether I know where it may lead or not.  To think that I may have never met the people who I know or have befriended, that there would be things I never learned, places to which I never traveled!  These factors have all created my experiences and lessons in life and shaped it into what it is in the present.  There are certainly aspects of myself that I would improve upon, but that is one’s life work.  And of course, in hindsight, some things may have had a better alternative approach, but again, the slightest difference would drastically change the whole of my life.  So I really cannot regret what I have done.  I can only recognize my errors and heighten my awareness of them, so that I may prevent them from reoccurring again, when I notice similar signs arising.  I can learn to appreciate what I have learned from my experiences, even the most uncomfortable situations, which becomes easier with the passage of time.  Yet, some take longer to find the good in or to let go of than others.

From Trauma to Release

In other news, the rescue season has begun to pick up here.  We are up to twelve premature seals, which can be quite a handful, as they tend to be very weak and can suddenly crash due to hypoglycemia.  Our first seal experienced this shortly after he arrived and several more times over the course of about three days, which required intravenous therapy through the blood vessels of the vertebrate of his spine.  It was quite impressive to watch the veterinarian quickly feel around a bit and poke the needle into exactly the right spot.  Unfortunately, due to the intravenous therapy and often being unconscious, meals had to be skipped, which also did not help his blood sugar level to improve.  The outcome was looking kind of grim, since the veterinarian had never seen a seal crash so many times and over such an extended period of time.  However, he has recovered quite well since then, and on sunny days, is being spoiled with his own private visits to one of the seal nursery pools, as the others are not stable enough to leave isolation at this time. 

It has been quite rewarding to attend the releases of our recovered patients.  Our efforts all seem to be worthwhile in those moments.  Before I arrived at the center, two little goslings (geese babies) came in, still fluffy with their down feathers and took up residence in a baby play pen.  One had a leg injury, I believe from either a dog or cat attack, yet he seemed to be in good spirits.  Later on, they got another buddy, who they took to quite quickly, as they would cuddled up close together with each other and the goslings in their little mirror.  Eventually, they graduated from their play pen to an outdoor enclosure behind the clinic, from which they would always try to follow out whoever was leaving with a stampede of little webbed feet and a chorus of chirps. 

In the bird department, once the leg wound on one injured gosling had healed, the swimming pool was filled for them to begin the waterproofing of their feathers.  Several days later, another group of three other goslings arrived, smaller than our current residents, and they had to be gradually introduced.  The first day that their play pen was moved into the outdoor enclosure, so that they could all see and become familiar with each other, the younger ones were extremely excited, frantically side stepping and pecking at the mesh screen.  It was as if their imaginary friends in their little mirror had suddenly manifested themselves into existence. 

Unfortunately, the older goslings did not take too well to these newcomers, as I discovered when I took the little ones out of their play pen later on to clean it and to see how initial interactions would go.  The older ones immediately took to nipping at and bullying the others, so I frantically switched out all of the soiled linens and moved the little ones back into their safe haven.  Apparently, this behavior is like a rite of passage, an establishment of the pecking order within the group, yet the new goslings were still a bit too fragile to withstand such treatment.  I do not believe that I was on shift the day that they were finally all joined together, and soon after that, they were moved to a larger enclosure in the woods with a luxurious in-ground swimming pool that circulates oxygen and keeps the water somewhat clean.  They were not sure what to make of this new environment and had to be ushered into the water.  They bonded well during the weeks that they spent there together. 

Soon enough, the day of release was at hand.  There are several people on the island, who volunteer their property for wildlife releases and the property that we went to on this particular day had been purchased by a couple to preserve the land as it is for the wildlife.  Their house sits right on the coast and on one side is a little inlet, where a gaggle of geese had been observed regularly in the evenings, so the hope was to integrate our six into this group.  Only two people went down to the beach with the carrier to physically release the goslings, and just like their move to the swimming pool in the woods, they had to be ushered down the beach into the salt water. 

It only took one of them to jump in for the others to follow suit.  The staff were hoping that the goslings would mingle with the family groups of mothers and babies that were slightly younger than themselves, but they instead met up first with some older geese and the establishment of pecking order began.  No one seemed to be seriously beaten on or injured, and they all settled down after a short time, as the newcomers had been accepted.  It became difficult to identify our goslings among the crowd, yet we kept watching from the windows of the garage, fascinated by this socialization process, and feeling satisfied with the payoff of our time and effort spent raising them, like proud parents.

Contra Dancing and Other Fun in Victoria

Coincidentally, on my birthday, there was also a contra dance taking place in Victoria, which was a huge deal, as dances only occur once a month, instead of weekly like they do back home.  I have really been missing my weekly contra dancing fix.  Once, I tried tango here, but it was not worth the fifteen dollars.  The movements are very precise and in time to the music, and it seems that one needs a good grasp on the basics, before beginning to actually dance.  I had no patience for this and have not been back since.  With contra, you can just jump in, people offer guidance as you go, and it is more about having fun than getting the moves right. 

Anyways, I made a day trip of Victoria, getting dropped off in town by another intern to catch the Salt Spring Island transit over to Fulford Harbor, which was quite a bit cheaper than paying for gas.  On the crossing to Schwartz Bay in Sidney, I noticed dark fins in the distance ducking and resurfacing in the water.  After having been pointed out to me a handful of times while on Sherkin Island, I determined that they must be porpoises, and they are often about the Gulf Islands at this time of year, as are the whales. 

The express bus takes one hour to drive from Sidney to downtown Victoria, but I was in no hurry with plenty of time before the dance that evening and a three o’clock check-in time at the hostel.  I always seem to panic on public transit, since I have no idea where I am going or how a city is organized.  I do not feel like I have a good view of things and am unable to determine for myself where I am and where I need to go.  I generally prefer to walk so that I can take in everything and feel like I have more control over my travels.  However, I made it into downtown without a problem, quickly located the hostel, and then headed straight for the Polish deli/restaurant that one of the staff members had recommended to me.  It was some of the best Polish food that I have had, including beet based borscht, a thick piece of grilled kielbasa, and delicate pierogies with a variety of fillings.  I determined that I need to keep working on my own pierogies, so that maybe I can get them to taste like the restaurant’s, Cook N' Pan, which is located on Cook Street. 

I wandered around for a bit, all the way down to docks, where the ferries from the United States come in, which was loaded with tourists on holidays and weekend getaways.  I was getting tired of carrying my backpack, which I may have over packed for a single overnight, so I hiked back towards the hostel and bought a latte at Serious Coffee, which was not terribly enjoyable, as the espresso was quite bitter. 

I was glad to find that reserving beds for myself and two other interns, who would join me later, worked out because it was such a challenge trying to understand the owner on the phone with her quick and quiet speech, further complicated by a thick Asian accent.  In person, it was not much easier to understand her, but she seemed sweet and interested in my travels.  The Turtle Hostel seemed a bit quirky, but it was cozy with all of the essentials.  I have been told that it can get quite loud there with the neighbors partying, but the I was tired enough that night to not notice. 

I unloaded a bit and headed for Beacon Hill Park, which the Cook N' Pan employee had recommended.  I meandered around the ponds, observing waterfowl, people, and vegetation.  There was a wedding party doing a photoshoot by one pond and on a little stone bridge nearby.  I found one tree whose trunk gradually inclines over the pond, creating a cozy napping spot, and shielded from the walkway by some bushes.  There was another grove of large, distorted trees, which were quite enjoyable to rest on and watch the world go by. 

After exiting the park, I came upon a bookstore, and inquired about coffee shops as I checked out, since evening seemed to be closing time for several businesses.  I was referred to Habit on the corner of Blanshard and Johnson Streets for their amazing hot chocolates and mochas.  I found a little booth tucked away in the corner, where I sipped an absolutely delicious hot cocoa, complete with chocolate shavings on top of the foamy milk, and read my book. 

I decided to try walking to the dance, after I had Google mapped it again and found out that it was only half an hour walk away from the hostel.  That did not sound too bad and I figured that I could check out the neighborhood on the way to determine if it might be safe enough to walk back through that night.  I vaguely remembered a back way that Google had come up with, including lots of turns onto various streets.  I quickly became lost and asked for directions.  Coincidentally, the people who I first encountered were visiting from Philadelphia and needed to refer to the mother, who they and their children were staying with, as she was well acquainted with Victoria.  However, she did not know the street that I was looking for quite so well and brought out a map, which she lent to me, in case I became lost again. 

I located the church, at which the dance was to be held, but the parking lot looked a bit deserted.  Fortunately, as I approached the street corner, there were more cars parked along the roadside and in a lot for the community center behind the church.  I could already feel myself getting giddy with excitement.  There were only two small lines, maybe twenty or twenty-five people total.  It took a bit to relax and get back into the rhythm and flow of contra, but I was so happy to just be there and just dance!  I also discovered that I had not yet lost my spinning tolerance, after not having danced and twirled for about a month and a half, because the change is usually quick and drastic.  Although, it did probably help that many of the guys there did not engage in fancy spin tricks or lots of them.  Once some of them figured out that they could twirl me, they did, which was good fun.  I talked to some people about the contra scene back home, and after the dance, I e-mailed all of the links that I could possibly think of for dances for a guy originally from Rhode Island and interested in checking out the dance scene back home, which apparently was not as prevalent almost a decade ago.  I asked a couple of people if they knew of anyone heading into downtown, but no such luck.  On my way, all of the houses that I passed looked well maintained with manicured, green lawns, so I decided that I would be safe walking through a rich, suburban neighborhood at night.  

I was quite energized after dancing and did not fall asleep for some time, even after the long walk back to the hostel.  The other interns had gone out to some clubs, so I did not meet up with them until we all awoke the next morning.  We ate breakfast at Floyd’s Diner, which was affordable with quality ingredients and large portions.  Soon after, it was time to start catching transport back to the island for work that afternoon.  I still find it challenging to get back into work after having a day off.  It never seems like enough time to do all that I want to do, to be active, relax, and take care of household chores.  It is so nice to just do what you want with your time.

Disconnection from Nature

There tends to be this romanticized idea about how back in the day of the western pioneers, there was a greater respect and appreciation for things in life and the environment.  Perhaps, appreciation for the material things I would agree upon, since these luxury items were difficult to come by in rustic living, yet very useful, as many have now become basic necessities.  To a certain extent, there was a greater connection to nature, as many to lived off of the land, depended on it, and interacted with it directly. 

Yet, due to the overwhelming abundance of natural resources and wildlife at that time, they appear to have been taken for granted from the very moment of the colonists' arrival.  There was no consideration of consequences for future generations or nature itself.  Everyone just lived in the present; survival being the primary focus.  One could catch fish by the hundreds in a matter of hours without a permit or limit, or log acres upon acres of old growth forests to make a quick profit and supply the demands of development and progress.

Materials, time, and back-breaking labor were put into a home, just to be abandoned a few years later for a more appealing tract of land, convenient access to roadways or town center, or better accommodation for an ever-expanding family.  In those days, it seemed so common that every couple would have a minimum of five or so children, so why not plan ahead and build accordingly, instead of constantly enduring the upgrading process?  The pioneers claimed immediate ownership to the land that they settled, which apparently granted them the authority to rape and pillage it as they did.  This set the standard in the development of our current mind set; the need to upgrade, the commercialism, nature just being there for the taking for our own benefit, and our total disconnect from it.

Self-fulfillment and a New Seal

Since my determination a few days ago to focus on and enjoy the present, I have noticed a significant change in my attitude and I have begun to really appreciate my time here and the island itself.  This shift has also coincided with work days becoming fuller, so that I often do not feel like I have completed all that I had wanted to accomplish by the end of my shift.  I started to wonder if actively being a part of a project or work and keeping busy with it legitimately fulfills me or if that activity simply keeps my mind from drifting back to the unhappiness that I seemed to feel only a few days ago.  Even if I am legitimately fulfilled, shouldn't I also be able to feel this way while working on my own projects?  Do these not actually satisfy me or am I approaching them with a rotten frame of mind, believing that they are not nearly as important as the other work that I could be doing, namely work for others? 

I keep returning to this struggle, finding meaning and satisfaction in doing things for others and not always putting myself higher on my priority list.  I do not think that this can all be attributed to cultural morals and the push to not be selfish, but also because I find it easier to help other people.  They can tell you what they want, what they need.  Yet for oneself, one must listen from within, which I feel is far more challenging and quite daunting.  What am I listening for?  What do I sound like?  What is it that I truly want, as I am constantly growing and changing?

I became aware of this tendency to ignore or belittle my own goals and desires over three years ago, and I believe that such an awareness keeps me honest, making it easier to recognize when I am falling back into that old habit.  Ideally, as I continue to encounter it throughout my life, the period of time between regression and realization will become shorter.  Until, at some point, it will only be a flicker of a thought, a faded memory, as I will have learned to cope and live with this flaw.

The first seal came today!  Everyone had started to wonder when the first one would show up and a bet had even been started in anticipation of the event, as they typically begin to arrive at the end of May.  He is a healthy weight for a premature baby at about twenty-one pounds.  Apparently, he had been swimming near the coast all night and was not able to be rescued until this morning.  Now, he lies in his own personal bathtub rapidly dozing off, but suddenly jerking his head up, as if trying to fight off the inevitable sleep.

Watching Wild Geese

There was a gaggle of Canada geese paddling about Grandma’s Beach at Ruckle Park headed by two adults, which were leading about ten babies with two more adults at the rear, as well as another six adults trailing at a safe distance behind.  The babies were about as big as those at the center, perhaps at the teenage stage on the verge of adulthood, and making the same chirping chatter.  They fed primarily on Ulva species, a thin, bright green algae, which was growing on the beach and the rocks and slowly becoming uncovered by the receding tide.  It made me wonder why we have been collecting terrestrial greens for them.  Perhaps, those would be their alternative diet, being a species at home on both land and sea.

One youngster became distracted by a patch of algae on a rock, by which the gaggle passed, and two others followed behind, trying to steal the seaweed from him and romping about.  One patient adult stayed on with them, supervising the play as the rest of the group paddled towards the beach.  However, after awhile, she had enough and felt that it was time to regroup.  She began slowly paddling away, sounding a commanding honk every ten seconds until by the fifth call or so the little ones scurried up behind her for a quiet journey to shore.