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.