You can't have your cake
& eat it too.
& eat it too.
I have been harbouring incompatible wants of late. Metaphorically speaking, I have been standing on the edge of a cliff this past year, giving myself a pep talk. Trying to convince myself to let go and jump into unknown territory. To divest myself of my city portfolio, so to speak, and give the house-in-the-country idea full mental funding. And the pep talk was working. I was, and remain, poised and ready to jump. But why do cozy alternatives keep appearing? I'm staring at the water below, but joining me here on the cliff edge are less uncomfortable and much more familiar prospects.
An aggravating demonstration of how bad timing can be: Three of my dearest friends are weeks away from moving into the downtown core just as we are preparing to leave it. Life downtown has been very good to Aidan and I these past five years. But, from 9 to 5, when Aidan it trapped behind his desk, I have experienced it with the tentativeness of one who is uncomfortable alone. Trips to the park, or the mall; lunching in the Market or sipping coffee in a shop; exploring new things, and re-visiting old ones. These things are best done with someone at your side to embolden you and add vibrancy to the experience with fresh perspectives and companionable banter. Otherwise, there is a hesitancy that creeps in. An awareness of how awkward it is to be alone in a sea of people.
By summer's end, downtown Ottawa will suddenly seem a little less lonely. I will have my little sister living below me; my childhood buddy just down the street, and one of my dearest friends living in an apartment in the Market. I am flooded with a tide of happy possibilities: family dinners in the backyard, movie nights, and lots of hysterical laughter, (which tends to be bred in circumstances involving concentrated levels of estrogen). How can I leave now?
These are the ramblings of a young woman who likes to be where the action is. I always have. I used to feel hollow after a big family holiday, when the energy died, and all was quiet again. I still rush out of movie theaters to avoid the disquiet that arises in me at the sight of all of those empty seat, once occupied. I feel unsettled at night when the everyone in the world seems to be sleeping but me, and I yearn for the sound of a car engine.
I have much to learn: About learning to be content on the periphery; About the futility of always trying to sprint when that pace cannot be sustained; And about stopping to taste the fullness of my life in even it's most quiet and solitary moments. Bite by bite.
An aggravating demonstration of how bad timing can be: Three of my dearest friends are weeks away from moving into the downtown core just as we are preparing to leave it. Life downtown has been very good to Aidan and I these past five years. But, from 9 to 5, when Aidan it trapped behind his desk, I have experienced it with the tentativeness of one who is uncomfortable alone. Trips to the park, or the mall; lunching in the Market or sipping coffee in a shop; exploring new things, and re-visiting old ones. These things are best done with someone at your side to embolden you and add vibrancy to the experience with fresh perspectives and companionable banter. Otherwise, there is a hesitancy that creeps in. An awareness of how awkward it is to be alone in a sea of people.
By summer's end, downtown Ottawa will suddenly seem a little less lonely. I will have my little sister living below me; my childhood buddy just down the street, and one of my dearest friends living in an apartment in the Market. I am flooded with a tide of happy possibilities: family dinners in the backyard, movie nights, and lots of hysterical laughter, (which tends to be bred in circumstances involving concentrated levels of estrogen). How can I leave now?
These are the ramblings of a young woman who likes to be where the action is. I always have. I used to feel hollow after a big family holiday, when the energy died, and all was quiet again. I still rush out of movie theaters to avoid the disquiet that arises in me at the sight of all of those empty seat, once occupied. I feel unsettled at night when the everyone in the world seems to be sleeping but me, and I yearn for the sound of a car engine.
I have much to learn: About learning to be content on the periphery; About the futility of always trying to sprint when that pace cannot be sustained; And about stopping to taste the fullness of my life in even it's most quiet and solitary moments. Bite by bite.
