So I made peace with his landlordship. No, we didn’t discuss the Matter of the Windows or his Jacking Up the Furnace Policy. Let’s just say we both know it’s an issue that would remain unresolved for as long as I chose to live there. He did say he’s thinking of building a deck for the upper apartment, so perhaps that’s his acknowledgement of most peoples’ need for fresh air and an enjoyment of summer. He probably thinks that the next tenant’s utilisation of a deck space will eliminate any need to open windows – but that’s a discussion I’m not going to need to have ever again.
At any rate, the exchange was friendly and generous on both sides, and I’m glad to be leaving him on good terms. He expressed sadness that I’m going, and I understand that. It’s not about the money for him; it’s about the comfort of having another body moving about in the big house. And it’s hard to find a good tenant, particularly when one is inclined to make much ado over small things. I’m glad to be leaving his control issues and mind games. I’m sad to be leaving behind the friendly, slightly cheeky man who gave me some prints of his bird paintings, which I’ll hang in my new home in honour of his good qualities, and because they’re lovely.
I get possession of my new digs tomorrow and the official move is Monday. I hope to use the weekend to get the cupboard and closet stuff in place, and thus ease SOME of the unpacking pain.
But then I never find moving painful. Well, leaving Windsor and the place I lived my entire life was painful. More bittersweet: moving closer to my family, but leaving my friends; becoming a homeless empty nester, but embarking on a month-long adventure to find love across the ocean in a country I’d never been to before. I couldn’t have known then that it would take years to overcome that shock to my system, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.
I’ve always loved change – I crave it sometimes. I suspect that now I’m that empty-nester I’m a little too free to run after change any time the whim takes me. I won’t even begin to discuss my thoughts on where this has left me in the love and relationship department. Maybe I should be like my favourite bloggers – refreshingly honest and personally forthright – and lay that out on the table. Maybe in doing that I could affect some internal change in an area that could really stand some improvement.
But not today. I’m too jazzed about the move. It’ll be the fourth neighbourhood I’ve tried in Toronto since 2006. It’ll be different than any type of home or neighbourhood I’ve ever lived. Because in making this decision, I thought that it was time to let go of some ideas about re-creating that kind of neighbourhood and HOME that I had when my girls were growing up. After all, everything’s different now. I AM alone and I CAN follow these yearnings and go where the wind takes me. I truly believe in following the rhythms of the universe, and I’m looking forward to discovering where the path takes me.
As of Monday, everything will be new again. With wide open windows.
Change is the only constant. *~Heraclitus
Figure skating is not my favourite Olympic event. I used to love it when I was younger but now the whole show biz aspect of it turns me off, I suppose. This is not to say that I don't appreciate the athleticism and artistry of these folks. I just find it painful to watch. Especially the women. It seems that in the last ten years or so the bar has been raised in terms of required elements – and most them are still catching up. Yeah I know – that's the principle of the whole Olympics thing. But women figure skaters fall down a lot. And they're all alone out there on a stage in front of everyone and all the TV stations are showing deep closeups on their faces.
So it's kind of funny that I can say that two of the most beautiful moments I experienced in the last few days were during the Olympics women's figure skating competition.
Tonight, one of the skaters went out there and promptly started to fall. She fell on her first three jumps. With each fall she lost a little more in her stride. After the third fall she looked as if she might break. I picked up the remote control as I saw her shoulders wilt toward the ice and every ounce of will to pull herself back upright again.
What kept me on the channel was the audience. They encouraged her when she got up, louder each time. The level of applause and cheers increased when she got back into pace and started skating fast again, toward another jump. She landed it. And the crowd went wild. With each jump there was more audience love, and she finished the program clean.
That collective show of support must have been the thing that got that girl through that several minutes. And at the end she bent over, composed herself for a minute, and then skated off with a kind of "well I fucked that one up good didn't I?" kind of gesture. And they cheered even louder.
Two nights ago the Canadian figure skating champion Joannie Rochette went on the ice and skated her first round. The significant thing about this fact is, that shortly after arriving in Vancouver a few days before, to see her daughter skate, Rochette's mother died suddenly. And the daughter made the decision to skate anyway, for her mother.
Coward that I am – I almost didn't watch. I couldn't bear to see anything happen to that girl on the ice with all the closeups and television commentators and media. But then again, if she was brave enough to go out there, the least I could do is support her from the perspective of my sofa.
As it happens, Joannie skated beautifully. The best she'd ever skated, according to the judges. Biggest champion ever according to the audience.
Compassion and courage. Great big beautiful things on day eleven of the 30 days of beauty challenge.
I don't know if why it creeps in, or how it chooses its moments to do so, but every now and then I'm really shocked when I pay attention to the nastiness of the inner dialogue that can go on inside my head. Name calling, berating, chiding, making fun of. It's insidious really. It's kind of like someone you love whispering mean things to you; and it's a thing that doesn't hit you until later, and then you wonder where on earth it came from. And you realise just what this dialogue has done to your self worth and to your ability to keep plodding on.
I've never been someone with a low self-worth, I've always been pretty confident in who I am and I do like myself. So I'm not sure where these negative inner dialogues come from.
Last year my new year's resolution was to be kinder to myself. Lately I've noticed that hasn't entirely transpired because of that mean voice inside the creeps up when I'm not expecting it – that nasty side of me doing its level best to tell me I'm a failure.
And so I'm going to go to work to counteract it, and this year achieve that resolution. I'm going to work on it in my personal journalling and personal art and replace it with a nicer and gentler voice.
We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world.
~Buddha