Great Expectations; England to Belgium

My first glimpse of Belgium was of fields and a spot of sun through a dark bank of clouds. It could have been anywhere, but a French flag was flying beside the train tracks, so I knew I was someplace different.

Exploring England the week before was surreal. It was like finally coming to a place I had been to so many times as a mental traveller. I grew up in love with U.K. authors - Beatrix Potter, C.S. Lewis, Lewis Carroll, Kenneth Grahame, Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, The Bronte sisters, Jane Austen, J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling, Rudyard Kipling, Roald Dahl, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Their England was the one I expected to see when I arrived and they did not disappoint.

England was a country of mythical status in my mind, built upon page after page of stories written over hundreds of years, but I saw it all just as I had pictured it in my mind. The fields of green countryside filled with bunnies that were in the Peter Rabbit stories I treasured as a child, the ancient and gnarled trees that reminded me of Tolkien, the riverbanks that brought me right back to the pages of The Wind in the Willows, and Baker Street in London where a character so beloved and admired has been made real with his own museum. Sherlock Holmes might as well have really lived for all the detail that has been put into supporting his legend.

England was familiar before I even got there, but at the same time everything felt new as I was seeing what I'd only imagined for the first time. Now, as I ride the train into Belgium, I'm about to experience a whole new level of 'new'. I know very little about Brussels, Bruges, and Ghent, but I'm so excited to see more - past the fields and sun peaking out of dark clouds, past the French flag to the people who live under it. I'm prepared to fall in love with this new place. 

Alone in London I learned

The hairdresser who cut my hair before I left Toronto said I would learn a lot about myself when I travelled alone. He was the first person to include the word "alone". Most people had just been saying I would learn a lot about myself on my travels.

I spent today alone in London and what I have learned is:

• I can go for very long periods of time without needing to speak. I'm normally a very chatty person, so I thought this would feel strange, but it didn't because I was carrying on full conversations with myself in my head. Being alone made the sound of my voice less important. 
• I'm a good navigator and can find my way back to places I've only seen once. I wandered without a map and didn't get lost. 
• I can walk all day and not get tired.
• I can explore a place on a very tight budget without a problem.The most expensive part of my day was visiting Westminster Abbey, but I managed to get the student rate because I convinced the ticket taker that I was doing my PhD in English Literature. Some of the most entertaining parts of my day were free of charge - people watching and listening in on everyday conversations are sometimes better than theatre (like right now there are two men in the Leathermarket Park talking about their Chinos and the Swedish Tinder app.)  
• I get frustrated when I'm told I'm not allowed to take photos. The frustration is so bad that it borderlines on anxiety. 
• I look people in the eye when they speak to me and this tends to surprise people. It either makes them happy and they hold my gaze and smile, or they become nervous and look away.
• I can't ignore practices I was raised with. When a minister at Westminster Abbey led the chapel in prayer I automatically said "amen" at the end even though I didn't mean to and  no longer consider myself religious. Some old habits are like the damned - they never die. 
• I am fine on my own. 

Uncertain future; open runway.

I'm sitting at Pearson International about to catch a plane that will take me across the sea to places I've only read about.

Two weeks ago I ended a 5 year career at the University of Toronto and now I face an uncertain future, an empty runway, and only my severance package keeping me afloat.  I'm going to spend the next month  exploring England, Belgium, Germany, the Netherlands, Italy, and France. Seeing the world and basically going for broke. I'm tired of running a race I'm never going to win and making money that never really felt like mine because I didn't have the luxury of time to spend it.

The last year has been  a non-stop test of my strength. From my common law partner telling me he was gay and that our whole relationship was a lie, losing the home we shared and all sense of what I thought was true in my life, to the day I was laid off from UofT and losing a friend to cancer. All 12 months I felt  like I was griping the edge of a cliff  with a giant vulture trying to pick my fingers away from the rock - waiting for me to crash and fall so it could pick my bones clean. I hung on with the help of family and friends, but now I can let go with no fear.  I've got a plane to catch me and it outflies any vulture.

My passport, camera, and notebook are my close companions and only necessities on this journey - everything else is  just details.  I may be spending all the money I have on this, but at this point I don't care if I come back without a cent. I'll be returning with  more of myself, the part that's always wanted to stand on the Bridge of Sighs in Venice and blow a kiss to 84 Charing Cross Road in London,  and that's worth so much more.

"Houda" as a verb

If Houda Rafle said you were cool, you believed her.

Because Houda was one of those people who said things with such conviction and authority that you didn't dare doubt her word. For all intents and purposes, Houda was a boss.

I met Houda while doing contract work for eTalk during the Toronto International Film Festival. I was an outsider, brought in for a short amount of time to help with the influx of duties that come with such a large event, and she didn't need to make time for me and my inadequacies. This was TIFF and there was no time for slow learners. My first shift with her was intimidating as all hell and I tried so hard to make myself useful. I don't know much about entertainment news, so I was floundering. Houda's conversation about an artist named Trey Songz confused me (Trey who?), but I tried to keep up. Then she mentioned Ludacris (now him I understood) and I was able to quote a favourite lyric. Houda gave me a look of pure honesty and said "you're one of us. Amanda, that was cool." I believed her and from then on she treated me as one of her own.

The Houda I knew was sassy and strong. She told you what she thought, without holding back, and if you didn't like it that was your problem, not Houda's. If you wanted something taken care of the best person to turn to was Houda. She'd take care of business because she was a boss in every respect. Her flare for taking charge of difficult situations and people gave her such a reputation that her name became used as a verb when things got tough. Having a problem with your phone company? Time to Houda. Did that waitress just ignore us? No she didn't; Houda it up. If you had an issue you wanted Houda in your corner (or at least to channel Houda's strength).

This fall, Houda was diagnosed with cancer. She was one of the many people effected by the errors of Dr. Ivo Slezic, a Trillium radiologist who misread scans and gave patients inaccurate information. But in true Houda fashion she dealt with it with strength. She spoke out about the situation and about her fight for her life with such conviction that you didn't dare think that she'd do anything but live. Because when Houda spoke you believed her, and it's hard to imagine such a fighter losing any battle, especially one for her life.

Last night Houda died. This makes me more angry than I can express through words. I walked the streets of Toronto today with bitter tears streaming down my face because I feel very strongly that her death was unjust. A medical error that shouldn't have occurred took time away from Houda's fight with cancer. A fighter deserves a fighting chance and a vivacious young woman deserves a chance to live. That chance was diminished because of Dr. Slezic's errors and it's not what Houda, or any of his other patients, deserved.

When I found out Houda was sick, I reached out to her to tell her that I was here if she needed someone to talk to. She thanked me, and in true Houda fashion turned the conversation back to me and how I was doing. She'd heard I'd been going through some difficult changes. It was true. 2013 has not been an easy year for me. I lost my partner, the home we shared, and most recently, I've lost my job. Through these periods of change I've heard every phrase of encouragement and support, which when you're feeling your lowest sound like empty words. But when Houda said "you are beautiful and young and I know you will find the right guy for you." I believed her.

A Lovely, Un-Romantic Valentine's Day

My first Valentine’s Day with a boyfriend was spent ass-deep in his ex-girlfriend’s stuff. 

We’d been dating for three months and I’d spent most of that time bugging him to clean up his place. To say that he had clutter is an understatement. We made a deal that the next free weekend we had available we’d spend it purging and organizing his apartment. It just so happened that the next free weekend fell on Valentine’s Day.

With thoughts of flowers and chocolate being presented like I’d seen in every commercial and after school special I’d watched since the age of five dancing through my head, I dove into the clutter with zeal. After this chore was done there’d be romance, more importantly, there’d be chocolate.

I’d grab items and say, “keep, toss, donate?” expecting that most items would end up in the keep category. To my surprise most of it was deemed a toss/donate and most of it had belonged to a woman. Girly books, photos, jewelry, tank tops, stockings, and even the beginnings of a fanfic novel all got tossed into bags. Eventually I stopped asking and just threw anything that had the look and feel of a female out. But I had trouble throwing these items away without getting absorbed in them first. Especially when I realized that I was sitting in a pile of stuff that had made up a person’s life.

I learned a lot about my first boyfriend’s ex that day. She was a figure skater, she read a lot of bad novels, she wore clothes I would never wear and she was bad at spelling. Looking at these personal objects and piecing a dossier of the ex together in my mind was more revealing than hearing about her from other people and I recognized that we were nothing alike. My boyfriend explained that his ex had broken up with him suddenly and left almost as quickly. The breakup was premeditated, but she didn’t bother to pack up properly and he had never bothered to go through their place and throw her things away, until now, until meeting me.  

Two days and 40 garbage bags later, his place was finally organized and no trace of the ex was left. What was left was a greater understanding of each other. I knew more about my new boyfriend and his past, he knew more about me and we made a promise to always be honest with each other and not let clutter (mental or emotional) build up between us.  He never did buy me flowers or chocolate, and I discovered he isn’t the romantic type and doesn’t like holidays, but in the end I didn’t mind.

It’s been over four years now and he’s still my boyfriend, my first and my last. We’re still always honest with each other. I love him, not because he sweeps me off my feet on Valentine’s Day like I see in many commercials and after school specials, but because he treats me like a queen all the other days of the year. And when I say we have to clean the apartment and take out the clutter, he hops to it and takes care of business. 

Productivity Surge, Creativity Collapse

Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s the fact that the weight of 2013 is finally starting to settle in. Maybe it’s just me. But I’ve noticed a distinct surge in productivity.

I am slamming through projects in my professional life at high speed. My to-do lists get longer every day, but I manage to maintain output. I’m juggling a full-time job, a course in copywriting, part-time volunteer work, and I still manage to make time for family and friends. I’m feeling increasingly ambitious around the house. I want to clean everything, organize closets and cupboards. Purge, and then re-organize again. I want to re-decorate! Never has the urge to paint walls and hang up photos been so strong. These same urges have bled into my vacation planning. Despite the fact that I won’t be going on a trip until August, I want to book the flight now! Set up the restaurant reservations now! I want to organize and plan. And then plan and re-organize again! My productivity is wild and, probably, beneficial, but it’s come at a cost.

At first, I thought the cost was fatigue. My mind’s been whirring with all the things I want to take care of late into the night. I make lists in my sleep because even when I’m dreaming the urge to be productive doesn’t wane. But really, I think the true cost has been my creativity. The urge to write fiction that was so strong in December and January has stopped altogether. My campaign visions and snappy spin on copy for my copywriting class has faltered. Forcing creativity is worse than forcing yourself to poop when you’re constipated, but in some cases (like class), I just have to grit my teeth and bear down. This blog, especially, is suffering. I have neither the time, nor the creative compulsion to write in it... even though I want to. So many times have I come across a situation and thought “yes! I’ll write about this tonight!” only to get home late, and exhausted, and drawn to re-fold all my sweaters, instead of letting my creative juices flow.

Am I too busy? Maybe. If I had more time would I write more and get better ideas for campaigns? Perhaps. Are all my creative powers being poured into work and volunteering, so much so that I feel drained in other areas? Possible.

How do I fix it? I don’t know, but I’m looking for suggestions. How do you get your creativity in gear and maintain focus?

Ride of her Life

Cancer. We’re all acquainted with it.

A monster of a disease that captures its victims, weakens them, sometimes beyond recognition, and often kills them.  We’ve all loved people who have died and people who have survived this illness. Perhaps that’s why the Ride to Conquer Cancer benefiting Princess Margaret Hospital holds such power over us. Signs for it are pervasive. People who don’t normally bike to the corner store challenge themselves to do it and I’m sure you’ve donated to it at least once. I know I have on multiple occasions.

I’ve worn pins, bought plants and signed pledge forms. Half a dozen of my friends have participated in the ride. I give spare change to strangers fundraising on the street and I’ve written articles about survivors in my community newspaper who have trained for it. But nobody has moved me with their efforts as much as my friend Christina.

Christina did the Ride to Conquer Cancer for the first time last year. She was biking in memory of her childhood best friend who had died of cancer in 2008. Four days before the ride started, she was diagnosed with cancer herself and this two day journey took on a whole new meaning.  Despite the shock of her diagnosis, she participated in the ride and finished feeling strong.

A couple of months later she was admitted to the hospital for kidney cancer. After her surgery she was told that the cancer had spread, which made multiple incisions on her side necessary. It was an emotional time, but she didn’t let it hinder her spirit. She dealt with the disease with an immense amount of determination and grace. Inspired doesn’t even come close to describing how  she made me feel when I visited her in the hospital. Humbled by her strength would be more accurate.

This year Christina will be participating in all four Rides to Conquer Cancer across Canada. Less than a year after her own surgery she will be travelling the nation to ride alongside other cancer survivors and supporters.  Starting in Ontario on June 9th, continuing in British Columbia June 16th, Alberta on June 23rd and finishing up in Quebec on July 7th, she’s personally matching every donation given to her dollar for dollar.

Again, the feeling of being humbled comes over me. Not only because of Christina’s strength in participating in all four rides, but because of her generosity. She’s faced this monstrous disease through the loss of a friend and through personal illness. Instead of succumbing to loss and sadness she’s climbed on her bike and roared in its face.  Compared to her might cancer looks more mouselike than monstrous.

When she was in the hospital recovering from surgery I gave her a necklace with a wishbone charm on it in hopes that it would bring her luck during a difficult time. I was afraid of what the doctors might say after her surgery. I dreaded hearing a bad prognosis; I didn’t want to lose my friend. I felt powerless, so I relied on this symbol of luck and good fortune to carry us both through. In the end she didn’t really need it. Her own power carried her through the worst of the worst, but she still wears this charm as a symbol of friendship.

I’m not talented on a bike, so I can’t ride beside her. I’ve never had cancer, so I’ll never fully understand her, but I can write down all my well-wishes and hope for all of the luck in the world to follow her in the Ride to Conquer Cancer 2012.  If you’re participating in this year’s ride take a moment and look around you. You might see Christina riding up ahead, or maybe by your side. I hope seeing her inspires you like she’s inspired me, and you pedal faster, harder and never give up. I hope you take the challenge further next year by doing more than one ride or by raising more than the required funds. If you’re not participating in the ride, but you have cancer, I hope her story moves you to not give up hope and makes every day you fight through become easier. If you’re not participating in the ride and you don’t have cancer, but you do have the ability to give, I hope Christina’s story inspires you to donate to the next person who asks for your help in raising money for the cause.

When I first heard about her diagnosis I thought hope was all we had. People would ask me how she was doing and then follow up with “I hope she pulls through”, “I hope she’s okay” and “I hope you’ll be alright”.  We all may be hoping for someone in our lives to make it through this disease, but I want to assure you we have a survivor on our side who’s proving one ride at a time that there isn’t just hope; there’s life. She’s riding and raising money because she wants, maybe more than anyone, to actually conquer cancer for good.