One step forward, two steps back.

My youth and inexperience makes me (to say the least) ill-equipped to bring on those retrospective drops of wisdom about life; I am, at the very most, in the beginning phases of the learning process. But things I do know from my twenty-one years here: just when you think you're the most sure of yourself, everything seems to fall apart.

One year ago, I was exactly the kind of person that I wanted to be. I had a year of living alone under my belt, a basic grasp of French, was in a town surrounded by fascinating new people, full of buzzing anticipation knowing that the next step would take me to the rest of the world.

I was never as happy or as independant as I was when I was hopping train-to-tram in Berlin, wandering around St-Stephensplatz in Vienna, or making plans with international strangers in London. Even at my lowest points, when I was sleep-deprived, homesick, lost, lonely and alienated, starving and broke, I always had the option of taking that magic little trainpass and going back to somewhere comforting.

When I returned to Canada, people noticed a difference in me - a surge of strength they couldn't quite place, or a freshness and maturity that they had never been able to recognize in me before. I was happy for several months, high on the memories and feasting on possibilities (maybe giving myself a little too much credit) - having seen a part of the world that was completely new to me, I felt like there was nowhere I couldn't go.

Now, it's one year later. I've been back in Toronto for three weeks, desperately handing out resumes, and feeling more hopeless than I've ever been. I've never once not been grateful for the experiences and the opportunities I've had in my life, and I know everyone has their lows. But what happened to post-Europe, independant, mature Jess? When I hand a potential employer my resume and see their smiles slowly wilt, I'm instantly reverted back to high school Jess, who still lives at home off her parents money, underqualified and hopelessly unprepared for her real life. Worries keep sneaking into my mind - what if I don't get a job this summer? What if my lack of experience will prevent me from finding a job in the school year? What if I don't save enough money to travel, and I don't end up doing what I really want to do with my life? Now that I've seen the person that I'm happy with being, will I ever be able to find her here?

I'm afraid I'll never be able to answer these questions. Three months. I just need to worry about these three months, until September, and constantly remind myself to keep holding on, and trust that this, too, will teach me something.

One of those moments you would carefully fold it into a small square and pat it down in your left breast-pocket as you walked home,
And the streetlights would beckon you forward, every single time,
And St-Laurent smelled exactly like lavender, you swear it.

I hate just being human. It's just never enough.

Half of this wasn't me (it was Tom Waits)

nighthawks at the diner
of Emma's 49er, there's a rendezvous
of strangers around the coffee urn tonight
all the gypsy hacks, the insomniacs
now the paper's been read
now the waitress said

eggs and sausage and a side of toast
coffee and a roll, hash browns over easy
chile in a bowl with burgers and fries
what kind of pie?





A bottle of nail polish remover next to
an ashtray, four butts smoked down to the filter behind
a crumpled brown styrofoam cup, perforated by plastic spoon.
This whole city is dying of second-hand smoke,
and the rest of us are just dying.

The Take-Off.

I mentioned earlier this year that I wanted this to be my airport year, to bravely march into the unknown world, stop being perpetually stuck in plain contentedness and stop settling for normalcy. So this year, I bought a plane ticket, traveled on my own and realized my own abilities to adapt, made wonderful friends from all corners of the world, threw myself into completely new environments (from the rural French township of Jonquiere to the bright lights of Paris), found a clearer idea of who I want to be and what I want to be doing in ten years, and dipped a hesitant toe into the icy cold waters of journalism. In this time, I've lost some important people in my life, learned from some unlikely people, and realized who my real friends are.
And so, without further ado,

What I've Learned About Myself (and really, life) This Year
- I'm terrible at keeping a balance in my life. Unless all aspects of my life are going well, than nothing is, and this is often due to a skewed mindset. I will go long stretches of time getting 12 hours of sleep and napping all the time, and then I'll quickly snap into a rigorous routine where I'm out the door at 7 AM and come back home at 10:00. It's very inconsistent and something I need to work.
- Sometimes, at the most unlikely moments, there simply isn't any room to be afraid or worry and it's important to just keep moving.
- Often, it takes one very drastic (but calculated) risk or action before the rest of the details line up. You can go on telling yourself you'll do something, or wait around for people to catch up, but it doesn't amount to anything until you finally push yourself off.
- It's remarkably easy for me to immediate put up a cold, "I'm better than you" front when threatened or insecure. This is alienated me from a lot of people, or it has set me up to be a completely different person than I am, which pigeonholes me into a character that will inevitably disappoint.
- I drink way, way, way too much coffee. Five cups a day should not be a consistent norm, and it has been in the past four months for me. I also don't drink enough water or milk.
- I bypass many of the larger problems in my life and instead target a lot of petty inconsequential things like appearance and weight.
- I need to give myself more credit for a lot of things. I'm a more genuine person than I think I am, and the self-delusional "Oh I can't do this, I'm a terrible person, I hate everything" is easily turned into an excuse to not go for what I want. At the same time, I also need to trust myself to know to stop when I should.
- I am terrified of a whitebread suburban lifestyle. It obviously works for a lot of people, but not for me. Hell comes in the form of a mini-van and a white picket fence.

So that's the sum-up. And this year?

2010 Resolutions:
- Quit soul-sucking job, attempt to find job where I will engage with real human beings who have no chance to hang up on me.
- Do not spend more than $350 a month.
- NO MORE BEER.
- Drastic, but calculated decisions.
- Only go to bars once a week (Karaoke, Tuesday nights, Peel Pub)
- Use time that would have been spent at soul-sucking time cooking dinner for self
- Blog once every two weeks.
- Find a balance. And an internship.

Manageable?

Hopefully. Have a good year, everyone.

Sorry sorry sorry!
New update soon, get excited everyone.

I wish to document my happiness.

The following are songs for rainy fall nights when you're crossing Square St-Louis and the fountains are still running, with the waistbelt clinched tightly on your trench coat, umbrella tilted forward slightly, wet leaves collecting under the sopping hem of your sweatpants, the taste of chai tea and buttered raisin bread still lingering on your tongue.*

10) Try - Asher Book
9) S'Wonderful - Audrey Hepburn/Fred Astaire
8) Solitude - Duke Ellington
7) But Not For Me - Judy Garland
6) Every Little Thing - Melanie Doane
5) Our Love Is Here To Stay - Billie Holiday
4) Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Ella Fitzgerald ft/ Louis Armstrong
3) Once I Loved - Damien Rice ft/Lisa Hannigan
2) Till There Was You - The Beatles
1) Overs - Simon and Garfunkel




*I'd like to give the person who coined the phrase "Happiness is remembered, not experienced" a run for his money.