This weekend marks the one-year anniversary of the beginning of the end of my relationship with my ex, M. The anniversary of the actual end will be this Wednesday, but I'm going to be on-call that day, and in the interest of not being a disaster at work, I am trying to get all the feels out this weekend. I spent Saturday alone at a Nordic spa, warming myself in hot tubs and dry saunas, and yesterday I basically lived in my pjs. The only reason I bathed was because I had made plans to go to the Mister Rogers documentary with a friend, and I thought she might prefer it if I didn't smell*.
Today, Labour Day, I'm rejoining the real world. My fourth load of laundry is in, the fridge has been emptied of moldy olives (who knew they could go moldy?), and the dishes are drying in the rack. And after days of wallowing in the hard stuff, I'm searching for the good things that came out of my "failed" relationship. What have I found so far?
Community.
M's family has belonged to the same church since her parents met at a local bible college, so their connections to other church members go back decades. Soon after I started dating M (once she had come out to her church in the middle of a sermon she was delivering), I started getting invited to events with members of her church community. Fundraisers, potlucks, small group dinners, reunions at the bible college, board game afternoons, and trivia nights...my social calendar filled up effortlessly. And it was really lovely. She goes to a very left-wing, social justice-oriented church, so while I didn't share a faith with these people, I definitely shared a philosophy with them.
And then, it ended. At the same time as I lost M, I also lost my connections to the dozens of people in her life who had become an extended family to me. My social calendar emptied itself out. It's been a year, and I still find myself grieving some of the harder losses**.
But the upside is that the loneliness I felt after the breakup drove me to work on my own community. I had neglected some important relationships while I was dating M, and in the past year I've done what I can to strengthen them again. And because many of my friends chose the past year to start having babies and to disappear from the social world, I've also been looking for opportunities to befriend new people. I've become really good friends with R, who is the ex-girlfriend of another friend of mine. I've developed a friendship with the woman I dated after M, because although we were romantically incompatible, we have a freakish amount of things in common. And I'm becoming friends with another woman I met through online dating. (One of the perks of same-sex dating...online dating can be a source of friendships!)
I'm also joining pretty much everything I can think of to join. I became a board member for a local theatre company. I joined a conversational French group. I started going to a drop-in knitting group. I've joined a group of lesbians of "a certain age" who are interested in local cultural activities. I'm even going to an upcoming information night about co-housing!
I'm not going to lie - it's been hard. It sucks to have spent over three years in the midst of a supportive community and to have suddenly lost it. I miss the ease of having a partner and a ready-made social life, at the same time as I recognize that it isn't healthy to be dependent on another person for all of my social activities. As an introvert, it's also really difficult for so many of my relationships to still be in the early phase. I want the comfort of 20-year-old friendships, not the awkwardness of new relationships!
But I'm working on it. I'm taking the opportunities that present themselves, and I'm putting myself out in the world as much as I can. And trying to be patient as I rebuild the community I lost.
*You should go see this documentary, but if you have any heart, go with someone you're comfortable crying with. And take Kleenex.
**How am I doing with the whole not wallowing thing?
Showing posts with label Learning to Speak French. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Learning to Speak French. Show all posts
Monday, September 3, 2018
Thursday, April 19, 2018
Blink and It's Over
When anticipating a vacation, I am always completely delusional about what it will be like. I imagine myself with no time constraints, able to endlessly blog and sleep and explore, without ever having to choose between different activities. The reality, of course, is not that. There is always more to do than there is time, and vacations eventually end, thus tonight is my last night in Paris and I haven't blogged in two weeks. I assure anyone who hasn't been following me on Twitter that yes, I have been having a fabulous time, and yes, I have been eating ridiculous numbers of pastries.
This has been a really, really good trip. There have been moments when I have felt lonely, and more than once I have seriously considered going to a cat cafe for some feline attention, but overall it has been good to travel alone. The introvert in me had been craving silence, long stretches of time without having to answer to anyone, and the past three weeks have been exactly that. My mind has been able to wander wherever it wants, and I have had time to think and think and think about all the big questions in my life. It has been good.
And of course, I have seen things! So, so many things. On my last day in Caen, I took a tour of the Canadian D-Day beaches, and then I went to Dijon, where I slept a lot and drank wine on the couch and did a bit of wandering through the historic city. In Paris I have been all over the place: the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Shakespeare and Co, the Musée d'Orsay, the Natural History Museum, Sacre-Coeur, Montmartre, the Curie Museum, and the Army Museum. It has been delightfully nerdy, in both a scientific and a historical way, which suits me perfectly.
I haven't done as well with my French as I had hopped. I struggle a lot with verbal comprehension, and the accents are different from the ones that I am used to, so I have said "Désolé, je ne comprends pas" and "Pouvez-vous repétér ça, s'il vous plaît?" more times than I can count. (Actually, I have mostly just contorted my face painfully and made awkward sounds, which is the introvert's way of saying "I don't understand".) But I have learned new words, thanks to reading every street sign and countless museum displays, and my ability to understand written French is getting better quickly.
(Yesterday's word of the day was "ruche", as in hive, which I learned from this beehive at the Natural History Museum. Yup...I am a nerd.*)
There have been moments on the trip when I have considered giving up on learning French, as it is frustrating to see how far I still have to go before I will be functionally fluent. But then, I wander into a bookstore and walk out with The Handmaid's Tail in French (La servante écarlate), and I think that the learning will continue. I dream of living in Europe for at least a year in retirement, and if I continue to plug at it for the next 7+ years, I can hopefully be functional by then.
(Also, there is a cute lesbian in my conversational French group. Not that that's a reason to learn a language...)
So...that is my trip in a very small nutshell. I will try to post some more pictures, although I dread the volume of work that awaits my return to work, so I make no promises. There is part of me that is resentful of the fact that I need to go back to work, but mostly right now I am incredibly grateful to have been able to do this. I know how fortunate I am that this is my life.
*When I was a kid, my Dad used to play a silly game in which he would ask what letter a word started with, and when I would reply "B" he would scream "A bee! Bzzzzzzzzz!" and pretend that his hand was a buzzing bee. Since studying French, whenever I try to remember the word for bee, I will scream "Une abeille! Bzzzzzzzzzz!". Thankfully I have learned to scream this in my head when I am in public.
This has been a really, really good trip. There have been moments when I have felt lonely, and more than once I have seriously considered going to a cat cafe for some feline attention, but overall it has been good to travel alone. The introvert in me had been craving silence, long stretches of time without having to answer to anyone, and the past three weeks have been exactly that. My mind has been able to wander wherever it wants, and I have had time to think and think and think about all the big questions in my life. It has been good.
And of course, I have seen things! So, so many things. On my last day in Caen, I took a tour of the Canadian D-Day beaches, and then I went to Dijon, where I slept a lot and drank wine on the couch and did a bit of wandering through the historic city. In Paris I have been all over the place: the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Shakespeare and Co, the Musée d'Orsay, the Natural History Museum, Sacre-Coeur, Montmartre, the Curie Museum, and the Army Museum. It has been delightfully nerdy, in both a scientific and a historical way, which suits me perfectly.
I haven't done as well with my French as I had hopped. I struggle a lot with verbal comprehension, and the accents are different from the ones that I am used to, so I have said "Désolé, je ne comprends pas" and "Pouvez-vous repétér ça, s'il vous plaît?" more times than I can count. (Actually, I have mostly just contorted my face painfully and made awkward sounds, which is the introvert's way of saying "I don't understand".) But I have learned new words, thanks to reading every street sign and countless museum displays, and my ability to understand written French is getting better quickly.
(Yesterday's word of the day was "ruche", as in hive, which I learned from this beehive at the Natural History Museum. Yup...I am a nerd.*)
There have been moments on the trip when I have considered giving up on learning French, as it is frustrating to see how far I still have to go before I will be functionally fluent. But then, I wander into a bookstore and walk out with The Handmaid's Tail in French (La servante écarlate), and I think that the learning will continue. I dream of living in Europe for at least a year in retirement, and if I continue to plug at it for the next 7+ years, I can hopefully be functional by then.
(Also, there is a cute lesbian in my conversational French group. Not that that's a reason to learn a language...)
So...that is my trip in a very small nutshell. I will try to post some more pictures, although I dread the volume of work that awaits my return to work, so I make no promises. There is part of me that is resentful of the fact that I need to go back to work, but mostly right now I am incredibly grateful to have been able to do this. I know how fortunate I am that this is my life.
*When I was a kid, my Dad used to play a silly game in which he would ask what letter a word started with, and when I would reply "B" he would scream "A bee! Bzzzzzzzzz!" and pretend that his hand was a buzzing bee. Since studying French, whenever I try to remember the word for bee, I will scream "Une abeille! Bzzzzzzzzzz!". Thankfully I have learned to scream this in my head when I am in public.
Sunday, January 7, 2018
How I Like to Travel
The first time I ever traveled overseas, I was 22 years old, and I had just graduated from university. Using my parents' travel miles, I flew to Europe with my good friend N, whom I'd known since I was five. We had six weeks, ridiculously heavy backpacks, Eurail passes, and very little money. It was going to be amazing.
Except, it kind of wasn't. I mean...there were moments that were amazing. Like the first day in London, when I walked around the city with my mouth hanging open saying things like "OMG...Alfred Russel Wallace lived here*. OMG...MAHATMA GANDHI LIVED HERE!!!" Or the beautiful day we spent on a boat on Loch Ness, before I discovered how badly I had burned my legs because I had decided to "let them tan". But there was also a lot of hard stuff.
The biggest problem was that N and I wanted to have completely different trips. I had planned for the trip obsessively, reading Let's Go Europe from cover to cover and marking things as "Must-See" or "Would-Like-To-See-If-We-Have-Time". I had practiced saying Hello/Goodbye/Please/Thank You/I desperately need a bathroom now in the languages of every country we would visit. And I had dreamed of all the nerdy historical places we would visit: Westminster Abbey, Edinburgh Castle, Notre Dame Cathedral, the Roman Forum.
N had packed her party clothes. Unbeknownst to me, this trip for her represented an opportunity to escape from her somewhat overprotective parents and just have fun. She had almost no desire to buy the discount passes that let you see all the historical sites in a city, but every desire to meet people at hostels and go dancing. So for six weeks, we cramped each other's style, arguing constantly about whether to spend our time in a museum or a bar. By the time we flew home, we were barely talking to each other.
I realized on that trip that I have some pretty specific desires when I travel, and they aren't necessarily the desires of others. Which is completely okay. I in no way judge the crazy people who want to be social and spend times in crowded spaces. I simply don't want to travel with them.
Over the years, I have been very fortunate to have lots of opportunities to travel. And with each trip, I've gotten even better at knowing what I will or will not enjoy. Which is particularly relevant to me right now, as I just bought tickets for a conference and vacation in France this Spring. FRANCE! If you follow me on Twitter, you will know that I have been posting there frequently about my excitement about learning to speak French and planning my trip. And to build on that excitement, I've decided to post about some of the things that make a great trip for me.
Really Nerdy Activities:
I love nerdy things, and the more I embrace this fact, the happier I become. When traveling, I have no interest at all in the popular shopping district, but I absolutely do want to see the collection of 18th century dioramas/the site where a famous scientist was born/Galileo's middle finger.
When traveling, I seek out the oddities. I look on Atlas Obscura to find places to visit (Oradour-Sur-Glane is high on my list for France). I allocate entire days to medical and natural history museums. And I love every minute of it.
Traveling Alone:
Shockingly there are few people in this world who want to spend hours with me in a natural history museum photographing a dodo bird (A DODO BIRD!) from every angle. When I travel with another person, it is inevitable that at some point the other person will become impatient and/or I will feel rushed. Which is quite easily overcome by me simply traveling alone.
While traveling with someone else isn't entirely negative (eating in restaurants tends to be better with another person), I do tend to prefer traveling on my own. I like having complete control over where I go and what I see. I like being able to commit a day of travel and four hours on a bus to visiting the seaside town from which the French explorers departed for Canada. And I like never being dragged out in the evening to socialize with people I don't know.
Flexible Schedule:
Whenever I travel, I tend to alternate between days of "OMG I'm so excitied! I'm going to see three museums and take a walking tour and take hundreds of photos!" and days of "Cobblestone hurts my feet and I don't like the food here and I want to stay in bed and Internet". This pattern repeats itself on every trip I go on, and if I ignore my need for downtime and try to push on with the sightseeing, I will inevitably become miserable. I've learned to build flexibility and extra time into my schedule so that, when needed, I can spend a day on the couch with a block of cheese and a good book and recharge my traveling energy.
Small Cities and Towns:
When N and I went to Europe, we gave ourselves four full days in Rome, recognizing that there was a lot to see. And for four days we rode on the crowded subways and got catcalled by Roman men and saw site after site of broken columns. For me, I was overwhelmed by the number of people and by the sense that no matter how much we rushed, we would never see everything. I learned from my visit to Rome that I prefer the small places to the big. Small places may not have as many things to see, but I enjoy the sense of being able to see everything, even when I go at a leisurely pace. And I love the oddities that turn up in small places, which would never attract tourists in a big city, like the preserved two-headed pig in the farming town where my grandparents lived.
Packing Light:
On my first trip, I bought the biggest backpack I could find, and I filled it with everything that would fit in it. And then I packed a second smaller backpack as a day pack. Even though I was only 22 years old, I felt like an old woman thanks to the constant back and shoulder pain from carrying my things around. When I watched the movie Wild, I couldn't stop laughing in recognition at Cheryl Strayed's pack (although, for the record, I did not pack 12 condoms for my trip to Europe).
Every time I travel, my suitcase gets lighter. I simply don't need much stuff, and I hate hauling a heavy bag into airport bathrooms and onto trains. On my most recent trip, which was to Quebec City, I took only my camera bag and a carry-on suitcase, and it was still more stuff than I needed. I will probably need to take a larger bag to France, as I need to bring work-appropriate clothes with me, but you can bet that it will be packed as lightly as possible. (Leaving room to bring home wine.)
So this is how I travel. A solitary introvert with a tiny bag and a big camera, visiting the nerdiest places I can find. My idea of a fun vacation would probably be a nightmare to a more outgoing person, but it works perfectly for me. Which I think is a good guiding principle for life: do what works perfectly for you.
*You know you're a nerd when you not only know who Alfred Russel Wallace was but also still feel angry that he didn't get the recognition he deserved for the theory of evolution.
Except, it kind of wasn't. I mean...there were moments that were amazing. Like the first day in London, when I walked around the city with my mouth hanging open saying things like "OMG...Alfred Russel Wallace lived here*. OMG...MAHATMA GANDHI LIVED HERE!!!" Or the beautiful day we spent on a boat on Loch Ness, before I discovered how badly I had burned my legs because I had decided to "let them tan". But there was also a lot of hard stuff.
The biggest problem was that N and I wanted to have completely different trips. I had planned for the trip obsessively, reading Let's Go Europe from cover to cover and marking things as "Must-See" or "Would-Like-To-See-If-We-Have-Time". I had practiced saying Hello/Goodbye/Please/Thank You/I desperately need a bathroom now in the languages of every country we would visit. And I had dreamed of all the nerdy historical places we would visit: Westminster Abbey, Edinburgh Castle, Notre Dame Cathedral, the Roman Forum.
N had packed her party clothes. Unbeknownst to me, this trip for her represented an opportunity to escape from her somewhat overprotective parents and just have fun. She had almost no desire to buy the discount passes that let you see all the historical sites in a city, but every desire to meet people at hostels and go dancing. So for six weeks, we cramped each other's style, arguing constantly about whether to spend our time in a museum or a bar. By the time we flew home, we were barely talking to each other.
I realized on that trip that I have some pretty specific desires when I travel, and they aren't necessarily the desires of others. Which is completely okay. I in no way judge the crazy people who want to be social and spend times in crowded spaces. I simply don't want to travel with them.
Over the years, I have been very fortunate to have lots of opportunities to travel. And with each trip, I've gotten even better at knowing what I will or will not enjoy. Which is particularly relevant to me right now, as I just bought tickets for a conference and vacation in France this Spring. FRANCE! If you follow me on Twitter, you will know that I have been posting there frequently about my excitement about learning to speak French and planning my trip. And to build on that excitement, I've decided to post about some of the things that make a great trip for me.
Really Nerdy Activities:
I love nerdy things, and the more I embrace this fact, the happier I become. When traveling, I have no interest at all in the popular shopping district, but I absolutely do want to see the collection of 18th century dioramas/the site where a famous scientist was born/Galileo's middle finger.
When traveling, I seek out the oddities. I look on Atlas Obscura to find places to visit (Oradour-Sur-Glane is high on my list for France). I allocate entire days to medical and natural history museums. And I love every minute of it.
Traveling Alone:
Shockingly there are few people in this world who want to spend hours with me in a natural history museum photographing a dodo bird (A DODO BIRD!) from every angle. When I travel with another person, it is inevitable that at some point the other person will become impatient and/or I will feel rushed. Which is quite easily overcome by me simply traveling alone.
While traveling with someone else isn't entirely negative (eating in restaurants tends to be better with another person), I do tend to prefer traveling on my own. I like having complete control over where I go and what I see. I like being able to commit a day of travel and four hours on a bus to visiting the seaside town from which the French explorers departed for Canada. And I like never being dragged out in the evening to socialize with people I don't know.
Flexible Schedule:
Whenever I travel, I tend to alternate between days of "OMG I'm so excitied! I'm going to see three museums and take a walking tour and take hundreds of photos!" and days of "Cobblestone hurts my feet and I don't like the food here and I want to stay in bed and Internet". This pattern repeats itself on every trip I go on, and if I ignore my need for downtime and try to push on with the sightseeing, I will inevitably become miserable. I've learned to build flexibility and extra time into my schedule so that, when needed, I can spend a day on the couch with a block of cheese and a good book and recharge my traveling energy.
Small Cities and Towns:
When N and I went to Europe, we gave ourselves four full days in Rome, recognizing that there was a lot to see. And for four days we rode on the crowded subways and got catcalled by Roman men and saw site after site of broken columns. For me, I was overwhelmed by the number of people and by the sense that no matter how much we rushed, we would never see everything. I learned from my visit to Rome that I prefer the small places to the big. Small places may not have as many things to see, but I enjoy the sense of being able to see everything, even when I go at a leisurely pace. And I love the oddities that turn up in small places, which would never attract tourists in a big city, like the preserved two-headed pig in the farming town where my grandparents lived.
Packing Light:
On my first trip, I bought the biggest backpack I could find, and I filled it with everything that would fit in it. And then I packed a second smaller backpack as a day pack. Even though I was only 22 years old, I felt like an old woman thanks to the constant back and shoulder pain from carrying my things around. When I watched the movie Wild, I couldn't stop laughing in recognition at Cheryl Strayed's pack (although, for the record, I did not pack 12 condoms for my trip to Europe).
Every time I travel, my suitcase gets lighter. I simply don't need much stuff, and I hate hauling a heavy bag into airport bathrooms and onto trains. On my most recent trip, which was to Quebec City, I took only my camera bag and a carry-on suitcase, and it was still more stuff than I needed. I will probably need to take a larger bag to France, as I need to bring work-appropriate clothes with me, but you can bet that it will be packed as lightly as possible. (Leaving room to bring home wine.)
So this is how I travel. A solitary introvert with a tiny bag and a big camera, visiting the nerdiest places I can find. My idea of a fun vacation would probably be a nightmare to a more outgoing person, but it works perfectly for me. Which I think is a good guiding principle for life: do what works perfectly for you.
*You know you're a nerd when you not only know who Alfred Russel Wallace was but also still feel angry that he didn't get the recognition he deserved for the theory of evolution.
Saturday, October 28, 2017
Feeding my Wanderlust
A few months ago, I was faced with the decision between going to a scientific conference in Boston this Fall or one in Paris in the Spring. I have been to Boston before, and I didn't really love it, so I was slightly underwhelmed by the thought of going back. And then there's the fact that the US is currently being led by a misogynistic, racist, xenophobic, fascist twat, which really makes me want to avoid the country altogether.
Mais Paris? Les boulangeries et les cafés et les beaux musées? Bien sur!
So I booked three weeks off in the Spring, bought myself a travel guide to France, and committed myself to becoming fluent-ish in French before I go. That's why I am here in Quebec City, speaking French poorly and savouring every last minute before le taxi whisks me away to the airport and back to my real life.
Going home feels really hard. This morning I wandered along la rue Cartier, which is only minutes from my Airbnb, and I saw so many places I had wanted to visit but couldn't because of lack of time. So many pain au chocolats that I didn't get to eat. As I sat in a café drinking the best coffee I've ever had in my life, I wanted desperately to be able to stay.
As much as I love my home city and all of the people there, I am realizing that I really want to live elsewhere. Not only for a week, but for long enough to really know a place. To try every restaurant and wander every street and speak the language so much that I start to think in it. I want to immerse myself in newness and difference long enough for it to become familiar.
Unfortunately, I haven't exactly chosen a career that makes this possible. I am very subspecialized, making my job market very small. There is no mid-sized town in France that is looking for one of me, and even Paris would be a hard place to find a job. Not to mention the fact that communication is a rather essential part of being a physician, and I know almost no medical terms in French. And I can't understand 90% of what people say to me in French.
Yet.
More than that is the fact that I am not a brave person. While some people have the personality that allows them to quit their job and move to a different country with only a backpack of stuff, I am not one of those people. I crave savings and an emergency fund* and insurance of every kind**. As much as I long for difference, I am also most comfortable with the familiar. The reality for me is that I will likely keep working at the same job until I have enough money saved up to retire early, because I can't imagine leaving the security and the great pay any earlier.
So I guess I have to go home. But I am going to remember this trip and how being surrounded by the sound of people speaking another language feeds some part of my soul that is hungry. I'm going to keep taking French lessons, and I'm going to read every single page of my travel guide as I plan my next adventure. And I'm going to dream of the day when I reach my FIRE number and can choose to never return from my vacation.
*I don't actually have an emergency fund, but I do have money set aside for a down payment on a home that I may never buy. This could be its own post.
**Sort of. I would never insure an electronic gadget or a trip, because I hate throwing money away. This could also be its own post.
Mais Paris? Les boulangeries et les cafés et les beaux musées? Bien sur!
So I booked three weeks off in the Spring, bought myself a travel guide to France, and committed myself to becoming fluent-ish in French before I go. That's why I am here in Quebec City, speaking French poorly and savouring every last minute before le taxi whisks me away to the airport and back to my real life.
Going home feels really hard. This morning I wandered along la rue Cartier, which is only minutes from my Airbnb, and I saw so many places I had wanted to visit but couldn't because of lack of time. So many pain au chocolats that I didn't get to eat. As I sat in a café drinking the best coffee I've ever had in my life, I wanted desperately to be able to stay.
As much as I love my home city and all of the people there, I am realizing that I really want to live elsewhere. Not only for a week, but for long enough to really know a place. To try every restaurant and wander every street and speak the language so much that I start to think in it. I want to immerse myself in newness and difference long enough for it to become familiar.
Unfortunately, I haven't exactly chosen a career that makes this possible. I am very subspecialized, making my job market very small. There is no mid-sized town in France that is looking for one of me, and even Paris would be a hard place to find a job. Not to mention the fact that communication is a rather essential part of being a physician, and I know almost no medical terms in French. And I can't understand 90% of what people say to me in French.
Yet.
More than that is the fact that I am not a brave person. While some people have the personality that allows them to quit their job and move to a different country with only a backpack of stuff, I am not one of those people. I crave savings and an emergency fund* and insurance of every kind**. As much as I long for difference, I am also most comfortable with the familiar. The reality for me is that I will likely keep working at the same job until I have enough money saved up to retire early, because I can't imagine leaving the security and the great pay any earlier.
So I guess I have to go home. But I am going to remember this trip and how being surrounded by the sound of people speaking another language feeds some part of my soul that is hungry. I'm going to keep taking French lessons, and I'm going to read every single page of my travel guide as I plan my next adventure. And I'm going to dream of the day when I reach my FIRE number and can choose to never return from my vacation.
*I don't actually have an emergency fund, but I do have money set aside for a down payment on a home that I may never buy. This could be its own post.
**Sort of. I would never insure an electronic gadget or a trip, because I hate throwing money away. This could also be its own post.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
Je Marche Seule
Of all of the unhelpful things I've believed in my life, the most unhelpful is probably the belief that a relationship is what makes a person happy. I'm not sure when I acquired this belief, but I know it was there by the time I was 12 years old and starting junior high. That was the age at which I decided that I would be willing to have sex with a guy if he would be willing to be my boyfriend. Fortunately I was nerdy and unpopular, so I never in a position to make that exchange, but at 12 years old I was willing.
The belief followed me through many lonely adolescent years and into my twenties, when I finally started dating. My first boyfriend was someone who could best be described as a Darth Vader boyfriend, but I was so caught up in the idea that he would make me happy that I couldn't acknowledge that he didn't. It took me four years to get out of that toxic relationship, and 13 years later I still wake up in a panic from nightmares that I have gone back to him. As I was purging my memory box last week, I came across a photo of him, and I felt physically ill looking at it. I decided to leave it in the box as a reminder that some things are worse than being single.
As the years went on, I found myself feeling not quite happy in a series of not quite right relationships. After each one ended, I dutifully returned to online dating, hoping that the next one would fit just a little bit better. But at some point in time, I heard or read somewhere (or perhaps many somewheres) that the best way to find a relationship is to make yourself happy without one. And so I did that. I started investing in friendships and cultivating my own interests and even occasionally hopping on a plane and travelling all on my own.
And at some point, it actually worked. I found myself single and, although still looking, no longer feeling a sense of desperation to get into another relationship. Any relationship. I found myself feeling happy as I starfished across my double bed and wandered alone through museums and used Saran Wrap without being accused of destroying the whole planet. It took me over 30 years, but by simply testing the theory that relationship = happiness, I was able to prove it false.
Empiricism for the win.
Towards the end of my most recent relationship, when it was becoming clear that we had entered the final disaster spiral from which nothing good ever escapes, my partner told me that she didn't think I would be happy without her. She acknowledged that I was unhappy with her, because it was impossible not to, but she also told me that she thought I was just an inherently unhappy person and that my unhappiness had nothing to do with the relationship. And for a moment I almost believed her. But then I would find myself daydreaming of being alone, and in these daydreams I could imagine myself being happy again.
So I left.
And now here I am, in a new city in which it never stops raining and the sidewalks are buried under soggy yellow maple leaves. I spend my mornings trying to pry French words out of my very English brain and my afternoons wandering the dripping streets alone, and it feels like magic.
There is no one here with me, but in this moment I have everything I could possibly want.
The belief followed me through many lonely adolescent years and into my twenties, when I finally started dating. My first boyfriend was someone who could best be described as a Darth Vader boyfriend, but I was so caught up in the idea that he would make me happy that I couldn't acknowledge that he didn't. It took me four years to get out of that toxic relationship, and 13 years later I still wake up in a panic from nightmares that I have gone back to him. As I was purging my memory box last week, I came across a photo of him, and I felt physically ill looking at it. I decided to leave it in the box as a reminder that some things are worse than being single.
As the years went on, I found myself feeling not quite happy in a series of not quite right relationships. After each one ended, I dutifully returned to online dating, hoping that the next one would fit just a little bit better. But at some point in time, I heard or read somewhere (or perhaps many somewheres) that the best way to find a relationship is to make yourself happy without one. And so I did that. I started investing in friendships and cultivating my own interests and even occasionally hopping on a plane and travelling all on my own.
And at some point, it actually worked. I found myself single and, although still looking, no longer feeling a sense of desperation to get into another relationship. Any relationship. I found myself feeling happy as I starfished across my double bed and wandered alone through museums and used Saran Wrap without being accused of destroying the whole planet. It took me over 30 years, but by simply testing the theory that relationship = happiness, I was able to prove it false.
Empiricism for the win.
Towards the end of my most recent relationship, when it was becoming clear that we had entered the final disaster spiral from which nothing good ever escapes, my partner told me that she didn't think I would be happy without her. She acknowledged that I was unhappy with her, because it was impossible not to, but she also told me that she thought I was just an inherently unhappy person and that my unhappiness had nothing to do with the relationship. And for a moment I almost believed her. But then I would find myself daydreaming of being alone, and in these daydreams I could imagine myself being happy again.
So I left.
And now here I am, in a new city in which it never stops raining and the sidewalks are buried under soggy yellow maple leaves. I spend my mornings trying to pry French words out of my very English brain and my afternoons wandering the dripping streets alone, and it feels like magic.
There is no one here with me, but in this moment I have everything I could possibly want.
Monday, October 23, 2017
C'est très difficile
Sometimes I am an asshole.
I must admit, there have been times in my life when I have looked at people who speak English as an additional language and thought that I would do better if I were in their shoes. I've imagined myself living in another country and easily learning the language by immersing myself fully in it - talking to other people, reading newspapers, watching television, listening to music. And most importantly, completely avoiding any sort of communication in English.
Sometimes I am an asshole.
I've been in Quebec City for three days now, and for the first time I am beginning to really appreciate how difficult it is to learn another language. Sure, I've traveled outside of Canada before, and I've amused myself by learning to say "hello" and "goodbye" and "I would like a reservation for two people" in other languages, but this is the first time I've ever tried to become fluent in another language. And despite having a reasonable baseline knowledge of French, I am finding it a huge struggle. I hate that it takes me five times as long to read a sign in French than in English, and that even then I am only able to get the gist of what it says. I feel horrified every time I ask a question in my well-rehearsed but halting French and then cannot understand the response.
My French classes are fully immersive, meaning that we can get in trouble for speaking in English anywhere on campus, and suddenly I feel cut off from the world. During conversational practice today, I had no idea what my classmate was saying, and I felt panicked at being unable to understand her or to make myself understood. The environment is very supportive, and my teacher did his best to not make me feel like an idiot, but it still feels terribly uncomfortable.
When I returned from my five hours of class at the end of the day, all I wanted was to speak and read in English. I opened my computer and was immediately relieved by how easy it was to read blogs and Facebook in my own language. The comfort of familiarity!
So yes. Sometimes I am an asshole. And I apologize to any non-native English speaker whom I have ever passed judgement on.
You are amazing.
I must admit, there have been times in my life when I have looked at people who speak English as an additional language and thought that I would do better if I were in their shoes. I've imagined myself living in another country and easily learning the language by immersing myself fully in it - talking to other people, reading newspapers, watching television, listening to music. And most importantly, completely avoiding any sort of communication in English.
Sometimes I am an asshole.
I've been in Quebec City for three days now, and for the first time I am beginning to really appreciate how difficult it is to learn another language. Sure, I've traveled outside of Canada before, and I've amused myself by learning to say "hello" and "goodbye" and "I would like a reservation for two people" in other languages, but this is the first time I've ever tried to become fluent in another language. And despite having a reasonable baseline knowledge of French, I am finding it a huge struggle. I hate that it takes me five times as long to read a sign in French than in English, and that even then I am only able to get the gist of what it says. I feel horrified every time I ask a question in my well-rehearsed but halting French and then cannot understand the response.
My French classes are fully immersive, meaning that we can get in trouble for speaking in English anywhere on campus, and suddenly I feel cut off from the world. During conversational practice today, I had no idea what my classmate was saying, and I felt panicked at being unable to understand her or to make myself understood. The environment is very supportive, and my teacher did his best to not make me feel like an idiot, but it still feels terribly uncomfortable.
When I returned from my five hours of class at the end of the day, all I wanted was to speak and read in English. I opened my computer and was immediately relieved by how easy it was to read blogs and Facebook in my own language. The comfort of familiarity!
So yes. Sometimes I am an asshole. And I apologize to any non-native English speaker whom I have ever passed judgement on.
You are amazing.
Saturday, October 21, 2017
Packing my Minimalist Suitcase
My ex-partner was the antithesis of a minimalist. Any time I would clear out a space, it would almost instantaneously be filled with something of hers. Living with her was like the principle of nature abhors a vacuum manifested hoarder-style.
Since she moved out, I have been slowly returning to my preferred state of being a semi-minimalist. I've taken four large bags of books to my Little Free Library; I've thrown out the three-year-old bottles of condiments that we never used; and I've even gone through my memory box and gotten rid of the awards and report cards that dated back to elementary school. In this new stage of life, I am focusing on being lighter.
In the spirit of minimalism, when I started packing for my current trip, I decided to limit myself to one carry on bag and one camera bag (which has some extra space for books/a jacket/a water bottle). I didn't need to do this, as I could have easily brought one of my larger suitcases, but I wanted to see whether I could fit my life into a small space for a week.
It was a lot easier than I thought. My suitcase easily held two pairs of jeans, a warm sweater, two pairs of pajamas, and more than enough socks, underwear, and t-shirts. There was room for five books, my french workbooks*, and a notebook. My computer, my cell phone, and my camera with an extra lens. Everything I will need.
But the constraints of space did force me to leave a few things behind, like my ex's long-sleeved t-shirt. The cozy one that I bought her while at a conference in Boston, which was always a favourite of mine, and which she returned to me after the breakup. The one I've been putting on every evening when I arrive home from work. The most tangible reminder I have of what we were, and what was lost. I am not usually one to assign emotions to physical things, but somehow lately it has felt as if all of my grief is contained within this piece of cotton.
So I left it at home.
*I'm going to Quebec to practice my French for a week! Je pense que ce sera plus dur que je pensais.
Since she moved out, I have been slowly returning to my preferred state of being a semi-minimalist. I've taken four large bags of books to my Little Free Library; I've thrown out the three-year-old bottles of condiments that we never used; and I've even gone through my memory box and gotten rid of the awards and report cards that dated back to elementary school. In this new stage of life, I am focusing on being lighter.
In the spirit of minimalism, when I started packing for my current trip, I decided to limit myself to one carry on bag and one camera bag (which has some extra space for books/a jacket/a water bottle). I didn't need to do this, as I could have easily brought one of my larger suitcases, but I wanted to see whether I could fit my life into a small space for a week.
It was a lot easier than I thought. My suitcase easily held two pairs of jeans, a warm sweater, two pairs of pajamas, and more than enough socks, underwear, and t-shirts. There was room for five books, my french workbooks*, and a notebook. My computer, my cell phone, and my camera with an extra lens. Everything I will need.
But the constraints of space did force me to leave a few things behind, like my ex's long-sleeved t-shirt. The cozy one that I bought her while at a conference in Boston, which was always a favourite of mine, and which she returned to me after the breakup. The one I've been putting on every evening when I arrive home from work. The most tangible reminder I have of what we were, and what was lost. I am not usually one to assign emotions to physical things, but somehow lately it has felt as if all of my grief is contained within this piece of cotton.
So I left it at home.
*I'm going to Quebec to practice my French for a week! Je pense que ce sera plus dur que je pensais.
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