So many people, who mean so very much to me, are getting married this summer!
Tomorrow I celebrate the marriage of my amazing sister in-law (also Vanessa!) and her fabulous fiancé Joe.
It’s going to be a day of magic and marvel, of love, laughter, and light.
(I am also pretty excited to be emceeing the reception – all the jokes and witticisms are belong to me! Plus I just can’t wait to lead a toast to the happy couple.)
So in celebration of all the nuptials that currently make up my life, I encourage you all to give your special someone a extra tight hug, an extra long kiss, and just let them know how brilliant it is to have them in your life.
Because what, if nothing else except love, makes this world go round?
This past Monday I began a new adventure, at a new place of work.
As it is anytime you start a fresh assignment in life, the transition has been exciting, and a little nerve wracking, overwhelming, and just downright fun.
I am someone who never really likes to do anything without being, well, incredibly versed in whatever it is that I am doing (aka I am a foolhardy perfectionist), so starting out as the new gal is always a bit of a learning curve for me.
It never really does get easier, but my belief in myself and my abilities has grown as I have also grown (older), and so I do have an easier time coping with the pressure that I put on myself.
But I have a confession to make.
Perhaps not exactly a confession, but an addendum (or perhaps the opposite of an addendum?) to this tale –
I quit my old job before I had secured my current position.
I’m not sure if any of you remember, but about five thousand years ago I wrote about the fact that I had “a secret” – something that I desperately wanted to share with all of you, but couldn’t for reasons (annoyingly) that I couldn’t divulge.
My plan had been to put in my notice with my old employer, take the summer to both spend time with Marc, and finally take a moment to think about what it was I wanted to do in the next phase of my career.
I had tentatively been putting together a project plan around starting a non-profit focused on providing writing and theatre opportunities for young women here in New Westminster, and had also planned on doing public speaking for Big Sisters through the United Way in the fall.
However, nothing had actually been set in stone.
I would be throwing caution to the wind, jumping into the void, and using all the other available clichés I could think of, to take the biggest (professional) risk of my relatively young career.
Many people sought to tell me that handing in my notice with no concrete job prospects, or guarantee of income was more than a little scary.
But despite this, I knew that leaving my old position was the best thing I could do for myself.
Sure, what they were telling me was, for all intents and purposes, correct. I would be lying if I didn’t say that I had some trepidation thinking about the unknown – but I also received an incredible amount of energy, excitement, and giddiness thinking about it.
In the end I trusted my abilities to succeed far more than I did my occasional stomach twinges of anxiety.
I knew that something would come up.
And in the end something did.
Just five days after handing in my letter of resignation, my current job was posted.
Nine days later the position was mine.
I am still incredulous at the serendipitous nature of the whole process – but hey, in the end you’ve got to just trust your instincts, right?
Because in the end, you are the only one who knows what will make you the happiest – whether that means staying until you find your next step, or jumping out of that plane knowing for certain that the parachute will unfold – it’s best to follow your head, heart, and gut.
(But just check to see if the parachute is indeed there. That might be good too.)
Contemplating jumping off a cliff. JUST KIDDING! (Hiking in Oregon – more on that this Friday!)
Up until two days ago, I wore foundation or concealer (or some combination of both products) every single day (give or take a glitch or two in the algorithm that is my life) for the past fourteen years.
FOURTEEN YEARS.
That is over 5000 days of wearing makeup; makeup that covers up and paints over my natural skin tone, my freckles, my pimples – everything that makes my face, my face.
I wore this makeup on runs, to the beach, to work, to work out, to school dances, to graduations, to family dinners, to the grocery store, to job interviews – I wore it everywhere.
And two days ago, I stopped.
I thought – enough is enough.
I am twenty-eight years old.
It’s time.
This is very representative of how I operate in life. I won’t do something until I have completely made up my mind.
However, once the decision has been made, I will never renege, and I will never look back.
I first started wearing “pressed powder” when I was thirteen years old. I had just started grade eight, and I was very self-conscious of the patch of acne that had sprouted atop on my forehead over the past year.
I wanted to make a good impression, so what better way to do this that spackle six dollar Cover Girl all over my skin?
(The answer: be really, really funny.)
Grade nine brought even worse skin, so I graduated from just the powder, to bottle foundation (that I supplemented with the powder.)
Looking back at photos of myself from that time, I can only laugh. I wore so much of this product that I looked practically a ghost – pale as anything, with super dark red lips, and thick black eyeliner.
I was pretty much a dead ringer for one of the Twilight kids, only ten years too early.
Over the years, my use of foundations and concealers has waxed and waned.
I wrote previously on how this tied directly to my eating disorders – in times of health I used less because my skin was much clearer, and in times of sickness I used much more.
But even at my happiest I always used it.
Everyday.
But two days ago I was out at the park, running myself ragged, doing my favourite combination of sprints, push-ups, pull-ups, squats (and all their ilk) and I just felt so incredibly strong- so alive and powerful.
So confident.
So much so that when I arrived home and showered, I stood in the bathroom and just stared at myself for a long, long time.
For many years, I would do this same thing, but in a highly critical sense. I would scrutinize everything about my body – my skin, my hair, my teeth.
I would pick myself apart, and leave the pieces scattered, broken on the floor.
But this time, however, I marvelled.
At the strength of my muscles, and the glow of my skin; the length of my hair, and pulse of my heartbeat.
And I thought – I will face the world as I am.
Which is not to say that I won’t wear any other makeup ever again.
My darlings, I am so sorry that I haven’t been writing much of late. All I can do is blame LIFE, because, alas, sometimes LIFE takes over. But please believe me when I say I will be back to business (or is black? to the future?!) in no time flat.
And so many things happened today!
Bob Rae is leaving Canadian politics after a 35-year run. James Gandolfini has sadly passed away at the much too early age of fifty-one. Parliament has wrapped up for the summer, as has the Charbonneau Commission (a public inquiry into potential corruption in the management of public construction contracts in Quebec. Montreal’s current mayor was arrested yesterday in possible connection to these proceedings.) Jurrasic Park 4 may finally (FINALLY!) be happening, and in a few short hours we just might have new NBA champions.
With only two weeks to go until the Scotiabank half-marathon, this was my second to last long training run before race day itself.
I haven’t been sleeping super well of later – not necessarily badly, just not very long – so I was out the door just a little before eight.
Normally I eat light before any run over 10k, but I my stomach wasn’t feel too great from the day before so I went out after drinking just two cups of water, and one cup of coffee.
(I definitely made sure to go to the bathroom before leaving, lest I be tortured throughout my route by the need to relieve myself; be it a phantom need, or otherwise – I find it’s never best to really challenge those boundaries when the feeling does arise.)
For some reason I always forget how much I love running in the earlier parts of the day. There are fewer people out and about, be it on the road, in the parks, in the woods, on the paths.
Most individuals who are up are with their dogs, out for a stroll to pick up bagels for breakfast, or grab the Sunday paper.
Yesterday morning was cooler, but not cool.
My t-shirt and shorts were a perfect pair against the slightly overcast sky. For most of the route my overgrown bangs were toyed by an inconsistent, but gentle wind – a wind that didn’t seem to so much blow and it did bristle.
As if it too couldn’t believe that it had to be up that early on a Sunday morning.
And that it had been so long since I had cut my hair.
Look at this silly girl, running about when she could be in bed. Let’s give her fringe a little bounce – one to match the speed of her footfalls.
Good thing I always have an extra bobby-pin.
(Or two.)
I thought a lot during my run.
I thought about new jokes that I’ve yet to try out, and old jokes that could be made better.
I thought about Father’s Day coming up this weekend, and my dad’s impending visit.
Unfortunately, even the greatest of runs can be upset by the most inane of happenings.
Yesterday it was the sight of a pile of McDonald’s garbage lying off to the side of the beautiful wooded trail that marked kilometers six to eight.
The worst is probably individuals who spit, and don’t look around to see if anyone is approaching them from behind.
If I had a nickel for the number of times I’ve almost been spat on, I would have a handful of nickels.
This is too many nickels.
After the rogue loogie hockers, it has to be the drivers who never bother to look for pedestrians at designated crosswalks.
I’m running to extend my life, not cut it short.
Next, it’s walkers who refuse to briefly walk single file as you run past, forcing you off of the pavement (you can just see their inner monologues of TWO ABREAST! TWO ABREAST OR DIE!), and dog walkers whose leashes are about twenty-feet long.
Why such long leashes dog lovers?
But in the end, these things are just little annoyances that can’t take away from the overall greatness of a run.
If anything, they make you wilier, more adaptable – they ensure that you’re ready for anything.
Bride!
Rant and Roll 