Colliding Worlds

All my nicely compartmentalized little worlds collided a few days ago. I'm rolling just fine with the resulting aftermath. Having a solid home-base to ground me makes all the difference in the world.

I must find a way to wind up my bookkeeping job in a manner which appeases my desire to keep things out of "clouds" as much as it consoles my preference to find a way to do what I can from home. What needs to be done will be done and when it's done, my commitment to my bookkeeping job will be 100% complete. I'm keeping my eyes on the prize. It will be done.

While making a brief pit stop at my other home away from home, I noticed the furnace fan racing. After a few checks, balances and inquiries, I turned off the breaker to the furnace and called the phone number left behind by a company who had serviced the furnace in the past. An appointment was arranged for the next morning and I left it in my daughter's capable hands. 

Yesterday, as I was dealing with my shortened morning hours, due to the fact I was working at the job where I leave the house an hour earlier than usual, all these dynamics were coming at me as I was contending to the obligation of showing up for work. Meanwhile, my home was looking a little like a construction zone as the living room window project was in its final stages.

An early morning email suggested an option to hand deliver this bookkeeping file after work. My instinct was to just say "yes" to a very inconvenient meeting. I would have had to pick up a flash drive as I walked home from work, travel for three hours of and miss the possibility of touching base with my son as the window project was drawing to a close. 

Wait a moment. I didn't have to decide in that moment and completely upend my day. I decided to have a bath and let things sink in. "I have been trying to find a way to make this work as I prepare to run out the door to go to work and I just don't think tonight will work for me", was my final answer. 

It's a long weekend and no one needs to be in a panic about this transfer of information immediately. Least of all? Me. 

Then came the furnace/air conditioner situation. The diagnosis? A new air conditioner unit. Thankfully a split second decision didn't have to be made. We'll sit on that for a moment and see what options are available.

Pause. Just pause. 

Due to the fact I was wise enough to simply take a breath before leaping a decision that would have ruined my day, I came home to find my son almost ready to paint the new window-wall.

We chatted easily while I watched him paint (terrible of me, I know) and he made the comment the house would be ready for my sister's inspection visit this weekend. When he found out I was going to be on my own, he offered (or did I ask?) to move the couch and carpet back to where it was before this all started. I rearranged the remaining furnishings last night, puttered a little bit this morning and here is the end result:

All that's left is to wash the windows, hang the new blinds and re-side the front of the house. The inside renos are complete. 

When the outside world is impacting your peace of mind, it's comforting to have a soft place to land. A place that grounds you.

When I felt all my worlds colliding, all was well within my world when I settled in at the end of the day. There's no place like home.

Memories or Excess?

The move to my little home in this small town should have resulted in a major culling of "stuff". Long story, short? It didn't. 

The collection of paperwork and memories that made the move have been shredded, sorted and organized in a fashion. And this is what remains:

My favorite cozy little room in the house will be the "final resting place" for all of the above. It is my intent to cull what isn't important, display what is (a few floating shelves are high on my wish list) and what is left will be organized in binders which will be easy to leaf through.

The bigger question is why am I holding onto this stuff? My own children show little interest in what feels important to me. Perhaps this will change over the next twenty years but if it doesn't, I hope if all is sorted and organized there may be someone out there who would be interested in the "story" I hope to create.

This is just one small piece of a picture that is so much bigger than all of this. The massive amounts of pictures, paper, letter and memories that are still housed in my previous home. And Mom's library of books ...

I hope to find good homes for all of the above. I have thoughts and ideas.

In the mean time, I do have to wonder - 

am I holding onto memories or is this all a little too excessive?

Serenity

Serene is not a word I would use to describe myself lately. Yet when I sit and ponder the world swirling about me, I think I'll give myself a little more credit.

There are a number of situations where I feel I have no control. My decision is to keep doing what I am doing until I can do it no more. It is my decision. I have a choice.

I could quit, walk away, be angry and deal with the repercussions from my actions. I could confront, offer options, suggestions and start a conversation. I could feel spiteful, stew in my own turmoil and let things simmer up until they boil. Or I could be still, listen to my thoughts, feel what I'm feeling and act on those thoughts later.

I am pretty good at compartmentalizing this little life of mine. I can physically close the door of my office at home. All of my work is contained within that enclosed space. I close the door in a physical sense and I feel myself walk away mentally. Normally, I don't carry the weight of my work load outside the door. Other factors may seep out from under the door and leak out into my ability to cope. But the workload itself? Pretty well contained.

The physical door of my office is a good metaphor for the mental doors I have erected. I can be in the moment, feel compassion, care deeply and wonder if I have anything of value to offer when I am in the presence of someone who is going through something hard. Yet when I hang up the telephone or the communication ends, my residual thoughts go toward "Is there anything I can do?" In most cases, there is little action  anyone can do to ease someone else's load. Personally, I know the value of having someone listen, give me the ability to hear my own thoughts outside my head and that alone helps lighten my load. 

I listen, I care, then I let it go. I don't take ownership of someone else's troubles. If I kept the weight of everyone's woes on my shoulders I would be immobile and of no use to be there the next time. 

The Serenity Prayer was my guiding light during a dark time in my life and I believe its message has been engrained into my subconscious mind:

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference"

Serenity. Courage. Wisdom. 

If you are in a situation where you cannot change something, I hope there is a glimmer of serenity you can hold onto. At least for now. 

Be still, listen to your thoughts, feel what you are feeling and act on those thoughts when you can.

Who Am I?

I may be having a late-life crisis. I don't know. I'm struggling. That is all I do know. Not struggling in a hard, life defeating way. Simply struggling to find the piece of myself that breathes life into my soul.

Writing has been the backbone of who I am, how I help myself, how I find myself when I'm lost and how to see answers unfold before me as I put words to the page. If I don't write, who am I?

I have always worked. Work always has its challenges no matter what I do, where I work or how I find a way to pay the bills. My work life has always been cyclical. I despise new jobs, not knowing what I need to know and struggling to meet the demands of a job. I love the middle. The part where I am comfortable, know my way around and I feel mostly satisfied at the end of a week. Then there is the end. The part where I'm searching, feeling "this" isn't right for me any more. Where do I go next? I have landed on my feet at the end of each one of these work cycles but I'm aging out and my desire to start a brand new job is nil. I don't want to start anew so I can't end this cycle. Maybe that is exactly where I am meant to be. Because if I don't work, who am I?

I am also nearing the end of my active parenting role. I will always BE a parent but my well worn phrase these days is, "I want to be a parent, the noun. I don't want to actively parent, the verb." I feel so ready to have my adult children show up on my doorstep (and vice versa) and just chat on a adult to adult level. We are all human, so there will always be the back and forth supportiveness that comes with the role of parenting. I will not abandon my adult children but I'm ready for each of us to live independently of each other. Once my last child leaves the nest and I find myself alone, who will I be if I'm not parenting?

I feel so ready to be done working yet the financial feasibility of living life without a regular paycheque is daunting. On days when anxiety rises to uncomfortable levels, I pull out my spreadsheets, update my net worth and try to guess what my financial needs will be when I stop working which stops me cold in my tracks. Working to age 70 and beyond seems to be the only consistent answer I come up with. Thus, the end-cycle of my present day work situation will most likely be followed by the need to start anew. I have fretted about my finances since I was a child. Always dreaming of how I would save up for the next goal, pay the bills, pay off debt, attempt to save regularly. If I didn't worry about money, how would I feel? 

Little stuff. The annoyance of cat hair verses the love of my favorite furry friends. If I didn't have cats, would I be content?

Home ownership and maintenance. The demands of owning a home are without end. I watch home renovation shows and long for low maintenance, minimal possessions, a four season sun room and convertible spaces to allow for overnight guests. City verses small town living. Having two homes to choose from, where would I choose to live? Where do I want to be to BE when I finish working?

I spent my entire childhood wanting to grow up. I grew up and discovered being an adult is hard work so I shifted my focus to the day when my children would leave home, I would be done working and living in a house that felt like home in every nook and cranny.

If all my wishes came true and I was living that idyllic life, who would I be when my days are not filled with what fills them up today?

Who WILL I be when I grow up?

No answers today. Only questions.

Fitting In

When we fit into the neat and tidy boxes the world has set out before us, we must take a moment to appreciate how tiny those boxes are.

The very word “box” defines how specific the classification is. It is like having to answer “True” or “False” to a question that demands explanation.

The first conversation I had with my child, as they revealed their inner self to me, was telling me they didn’t even know what box to check on an application form. Nothing fit. Male was not right. Female didn’t feel comfortable. “Other” was perhaps too hard to put down on an official document. Something as simple as an application form was difficult for them because they didn’t know what box fit any more.

I felt a wave of relief that society is opening up to all of the unfilled boxes when it comes to sex at birth/gender when I completed my Census questionnaire. It asked two distinctly different questions:

-          What was this person’s sex at birth? (sex refers to sex assigned at birth). Two boxes. Male; Female.

And

-          What is this person’s gender? (refers to current gender which may be different from sex assigned at birth and may be different from what is indicated on legal documents). Three selections: Male; Female; or please specify this person’s gender.

Fitting into a “box” is constricting for all of us. Life isn’t black and white. There isn’t a right/wrong; true/false answer to most questions. Life is all shades of gray, or perhaps more aptly life is all the varying hues of a rainbow.

Pride and Joy

Pride and joy are often words used by parents, old and new, to describe their children. Words that depict unconditional and unwavering love and support. As we wade into June, a month dedicated to celebrating those who are in the LGBTQ+ community (Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Queer and all who don't fit into the narrow guidelines of sexual and gender norms), I want to write a little story. Bit by bit, piece by piece, much in the manner I have lived and learned over the past few years. I want to celebrate a newfound pride I have come to celebrate quietly on a daily basis.

June marks the birthday of my youngest child. A child who has unveiled who they are. First of all to themselves and gradually to family, friends and their community. My pride and joy celebrates a birthday in the month when PRIDE is celebrated in our country.

Pride. To try and fit yourself into who you think the world thinks you should be, to tamp down your truest self to fit into society, to have to educate the world into acceptance and understanding ... these are things so many take for granted. What if YOU had to offer education, guidance, understanding and compassion to those trying to accept who you are so you could feel a strong sense of "pride" within?

What if you had to "come out" and reveal yourself to those within your world? What if who you are wasn't the societal "norm"? Why DO we need to come out at all? Why can't we simply celebrate "It's a Baby!!" Why do we automatically assign labels?

The greatest gift we have is when we find "our people". Those who we trust with our innermost thoughts and hear the quiet echo of "me too", within their response. One of the saddest phrases my child recently told me, upon meeting someone they could speak with openly and honestly, were the words, "It's the first time I truly felt someone got me". The first time they felt truly heard and felt the echo of "me too" within their conversation. At the age of twenty three.

We are all unique individuals and many of us are born into a life of privilege where open acceptance is a given. Our world is widely diverse and we are born into our families, communities and countries where who we are may or may not fit into those narrow perimeters for us to be free to be who we truly are.

I want to write about what I am learning, feeling and our experience. I want to do what I can to bring a sense of "me too" into the world for those who have never truly felt heard. I hope honest conversations and open expression of who-we-are becomes the norm.

Everyone has a story. May you stop and truly listen to those who tell you a small piece of a big story. Let us live in a world where "pride" isn't something we have to fight for.

Routines Revised

This morning's routine did NOT work. I will not repeat life this way tomorrow.

The intention: walk, then write. 

What happened: walk; laundry; cat litter & related chores; eating toast at the kitchen table without distractions; hearing a bird I wanted to identify with my bird sound identifier app (i.e. becoming distracted); start a blog post but got too long winded so started all over again; decided my Making a Bed Around a Cat video would be a wiser choice; file too big to share; downloaded an app to shrink video file; saved to my computer and figured out how to speed up playback speed; tried to upload video onto blog but it was the wrong file type; saved video as another file type; blog did not finalize the upload; so tried yet another file type; success at last.

My morning started by walking out the door at 5:45 a.m. It is now 8:59 a.m. I have walked, washed a load of laundry, ate breakfast and come up with a blog post.

Teaser alert: The video finally uploaded but I will not post that blog until tomorrow. 

Tomorrow's routine will consist of writing FIRST, then walking. If at first you don't succeed, try try again.

The next day's goal will be to write about something a little more important than "all of the above"

Rebooting and Restarting

 I stepped out of my bedroom to begin the day at 6:22 this morning. I think the day started to go sideways at about 6:27.

The last time I had a day like this, the day snowballed on me and in the end I should have stopped at the first sign of trouble and called in a professional.

I don't know who specializes in a day that is simply off to a bad start. So I am sitting still with my first cup of coffee [What is with that?!? I've been up two hours and have not had time for a cup of coffee yet!]. I shall work on my puzzles, regroup and restart in an hour.

I'm starting to hate Fridays.

I Miss Me

Waking up to a weekend full of so many thoughts, feelings, ideas and wishes has reminded me of how much I miss "me".

My introvert personality tendencies have me revelling in and losing myself in the COVID world of social distancing and isolation. The Coronavirus is enabling my natural inborn desires which is both wonderful and awful at the same time.

Add working-from-home plus my inclination to catch up on every little single thing I'm working on to this equation and I created a Math Zombie Personality (which is not my best self).

Long ago, I recognized my need for the law and order of a numbers related world to be counteracted with socialization, words, communication and enough quiet to hear myself think.

Decades of working in the banking industry fulfilled most of those needs. The ability to balance to zero was counteracted with the need to provide good customer service. My ability to listen, communicate, act and react in accordance with whoever was in front of me was a very good fit for me. 

My years of daycaring were offset with working at a bank on Saturdays, followed by a part-time bookkeeping job which became full-time. Full-time bookkeeping (all numbers) didn't fulfill my needs and eventually morphed into working as a part-time secretary (all people and words) within the school system. This catapulted me back into my daycaring/bookkeeping role where I was back in a place which was a relatively balanced equation of people, numbers, creativity and writing.

I fell out of balance a week ago when I immersed myself in work. 

I stopped thinking, processing and reflecting life-as-I-know-it. I had nothing to say, no time to say it, no one to say it to and putting this lack of nothingness into the form of a blog post was the end result. 

I took a day off yesterday. Words, thoughts, feelings and the desire to interact with friends and family came to the forefront of my mind again.

I woke up this morning feeling fresh, renewed, revitalized and ready to take on more than numbers.

I felt all these feelings and the sensation of "joy" started oozing out of my pores. I gave myself a mental hug and thought to myself, "I miss ME".

I'm going to indulge myself with whatever the day brings. I cannot wait to see what unfolds today as I create a whimsical day to just be "me". I've missed this ...

The Months of "No"

Shonda Rhimes' book "Year of Yes" was an inspiration to me. Her book was a testament to her year of "Yes" and the impact accepting life's invitations had on her life. 

I have tried the "Yes" way of life. It is fine. It has led me to places I would have never been before. It is both exhilarating and exhausting. It is hard. It is expensive. It goes against my naturally inherent introvert tendencies. The word "yes" depletes me as much as it enriches my life at times.

I have come to like the "easy yeses" instead.

I tried to come up with a list of "easy yeses" and my thought well ran dry. "Yes" does not come easy to me right now. I have been reveling in the COVID months of "No".

"No thank you" is my favorite go-to-response at the moment. 

As our world is gradually reopening there is a huge part of me that is screaming, "I'M NOT READY YET!!"

When I quizzed someone of the protocol about going out of province or whether having out of province guests would interfere with the ability to enter a retirement/senior living complex, they had to consult their books and came up with the response "As long as you aren't showing symptoms of COVID-19, you would be allowed access". My response to this was "Isn't it too late by then?" We both nodded our heads in agreement that the biggest risk was in spreading the virus while not showing symptoms. 

Due to the regular contact I have with my senior friends, I continue to be vigilant in my isolated little world. I don't get sick. Thus, I fear I could unknowingly spread a contagion to those who could be at risk. I continue to find reasons to say "No" to the invitations that are ever so slowly starting to reappear.

Where does paranoia start to overlap with common sense when it comes to the Coronavirus? Is my natural tendency to want to decline invitations being enabled by being able to label an excuse on it?

The reason I believe I am falling back on common sense is when it comes to invitations from family. It doesn't matter how depleted I feel, I equate interaction with my siblings to oxygen-for-my-soul. The answer is always, always, always "Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!".

This virus has beaten me down to a point where "No" is comfortable, safe, familiar, affordable and exactly where I most want to be.

I love the comfort weekends bring even more than I did during the B.C. (before COVID) days. I love parking the car Friday night and not starting it up again until I go to my aunt's on Monday.

I love, love, love working from home. I'm still having a little bit of trouble establishing boundaries but for the most part, my office-with-a-door offers most of the separation I need to keep work from infiltrating other areas of this oasis I call home.

I love the world of ordering online, free delivery or curbside pick-up. My heart clenches just a little before I enter a store-with-a-door. 

When I sat down with the words "the months of 'no' " at the tip of my fingertips this morning, my intent was to write of the lightness of heart I feel at living safely within the rules of isolation. Instead, the gravity of truth seeped out.

COVID-19, I truly appreciate the clarity, the isolation and lessons you have brought into our world. Personally, I am fortunate to say I have gained much more than I have lost though I know that is not the case for everyone. 

These months of "no" have been a holiday from life-as-I-know-it. It has been a reprieve from expectations. I know I must dip my toe back in the water and tentatively re-instate cautious "yeses" back into my world. The words "I'm not ready yet" have not yet been silenced. Perhaps there is a reason for that. Or maybe it is just an excuse.

One step in a forward direction, one step, one day at a time. Will take us where we need to go.

Which Way is Up?

You know life is getting too complicated when you find something as simple as sheets should come with an instruction manual.

I wore out my bottom sheet a while ago so I invested in some new sheets. I'm more into the economical side of sheet-buying rather than thread count. I found a set of sheets for $39.97 and came home and "installed" them.

The fitted sheet doesn't fit as snugly as my previous one did. Fail. The top sheet was much larger as well, so I arranged the excessive sheet on the side of the bed by the wall. The pillowcases were a pleasant surprise, as they actually accommodate a queen sized pillow with ease.

It took longer than it should have, to make my bed the first time. The reward would come when I climbed into bed and nestled into my crisp new sheets for the first time. Another fail.

My feet snagged on the top sheet. So the next night before I went to bed, I sanded down my foot callouses and lotioned my feet until they were silky smooth before I went to bed. It was better but not perfect. The next night(s) after that, I tried sanding down the areas of my feet that were still snagging the sheets. Better. Still not perfect.

I was glad when it came time to launder my sheets so I could pull another set of reject-sheets from the closet and enjoy some snag-free sleep.

My old sheets are the kind where you get one corner of the fitted sheet in place and it pops out the moment you try to fit the second corner. It took much manoeuvring to wrangle all four corners into place at one time. I knew there was a reason these sheets got shelved. The pillowcases barely fit over the pillows. But the sheets were soft. Oh, so soft to sleep in. Heavenly!

I checked the labels. My old, ill fitting sheets are Egyptian cotton. Good to know. My new ones are microfibre. Duly noted.

When the time came to change my sheets again, I decided to give my new ones another try. It was a good excuse to tend to my calloused feet.

I crawled into bed that night and was conscious enough to realize my feet were only snagging the top sheet. The bottom sheet was just fine. The sheets have a shiny side and a cottony-smooth side. Hmmm ... did I install my top sheet wrong?

Last night, I remade my bed and flipped the top sheet "upside down". Embroidery face down, hems showing, shiny side up, to match the way the fitted sheet was made to fit the bed. I crawled into bed, ran my feet across the sheets. Perfection! No foot-snagging. It was awesome.

I grazed my feet across the perfectly smooth sheet surfaces every time I rolled over last night. Ahhh!!! So smooth! Heavenly!

Not only did I figure out why I most likely wore out my previous sheets (from all the friction created as I ran my feet over my sheets as I slept), but I felt a small bit peeved as I thought to myself, "Life is far too complicated if I cannot even install sheets without a set of instructions indicating which way is up!"

The moral of my little story is that thread count (in my estimation) does not matter as much as knowing which way is up when you buy new sheets.