// Thought #319 on Love //

Today, while at the bookstore, a very small elderly lady who looked as though I could scoop her right up and carry her away in one swift motion, asked for my help. At first, I could hear her voice but saw no one, “Excuse me miss, this frame is a 4x6 right?” Down near my feet there she sat, perched on the edge of a bookshelf. Her hair was wiry and as stark white as a sheet of paper, and she peered over her tiny frame glasses which matched her body’s tiny frame well. I took a step closer and squinted to see the label which did in fact read: 4x6. “Yes! It is.” I smiled as best I could through my mask. “Do you have any others? I’m not sure how this one works and I don't think I like it.” Now I do not work at this store, but I did my best to help. Eventually I just had to admit I didn’t work there before I dug a hole too deep to climb out of. “Oh! You just looked like a real problem solver I guess, sorry about that dear.” She laughed, and so did I. She told me how she was buying the frame to put a photo of her granddaughter in. “She’s beautiful you know - she’s in a lovely dress for her prom, and you know that was a really big deal this year. I have a picture of her in her graduation gown framed too, so now I just need to frame the other one. She’s just gorgeous you know.” Even though I didn’t know this for sure, as I’d never met her granddaughter, I believed her. 

She carried on talking about her granddaughter like she was the sun and she worshipped her. With every word, (even through her mask) I could tell her smile was getting bigger and I could hear pride filtered through the cotton hiding her mouth. I think she could’ve talked about anything and I would’ve listened. Her disposition somehow made it clear to me what really matters in our little lives. She had lived an entire life which I knew nothing about for I only met her moments ago, but after decades of inhabiting this big round rock the thing she wanted to talk about was someone she loved. So much, that she needed to tell me - a total stranger. Her small musings in this vast universe may have only been heard by me in that moment, but the feeling behind the words she spoke could’ve lit a spark in a thousand hearts. People are the only thing that really matters here in this life. See, she could have simply asked if the store carried other frames by the same dimensions, received an answer and moved along, but instead she shared a little part of her life with me, a story I hadn’t even asked for - a gift. She shared her unsolicited joy with me and even though I’m sure she didn’t think twice about it, I dwelled on our interaction for the rest of the day. She isn’t the first senior citizen I’ve encountered who shared quiet thoughts on a long life, but I’d never thought much about the other interactions. Suddenly I began to think: one day, I might be sitting at the bottom of a bookshelf, legs too old and tired to carry me anymore, holding a frame, hoping someone will tell me if it’s the right one and also be patient enough to listen to my story of the person whose photo I so desperately want to frame... 

I guess what I’m trying to say, in a very long-winded, probably confusing way, is that we should love more. I don’t just mean in a romantic sense either; I also mean platonic love and familial love and self-love. Some people have to beg for love and then go ahead and call it a gift, so if you’re lucky enough to feel loved or to love someone, don’t waste time being afraid of sincerity. Let them know, show them, write it down for them if you need to. But please, don’t shrug it off - don’t let it go unheard. Loving means being sincere which means being a little vulnerable or an admittance to caring, and I know people love to seem hard and immune to feelings to protect themselves, so when someone is sincere it scares people. Sincerity is foreign and thus often rejected, much like when a body rejects an organ after transplant. Its efforts are simply to protect us, but it’s actually killing the thing keeping us alive. So call me melodramatic but I think similarly about being sincere. It’s killing some integral part of us all to keep rejecting it all the time. 

I personally adore when people show me they love me by being sincere. I think everyone should share their heartfelt thoughts and genuine fears with each other, scream profoundness wherever they may go, allow the realest, truest parts of themselves to see the outside world. I think it’s okay if it makes people uncomfortable. Maybe that’s a step in the right direction. There’s nothing wrong with being sincere, there’s nothing wrong with loving, there’s nothing wrong with being loved. We need to start providing ourselves the allowance to tell people how important they are to us, to be generous in what we give, to be exposed, susceptible, tender. It's okay to do those things and I think when we repress feelings in the realm of love, we deny ourselves and those dearest to us the greatest joy of life, the thing we'll want to be talking to a stranger in a bookstore about fifty years down the road. People will always remember how you made them feel even long after they forget your actions and words, the love you provided will continue to pulse through their blood even when their brain fails them in old age.

One day when I die, I hope that at my funeral the feeling that pierces people the worst, is love. I know that sentence sounds awkward but as I’m sure you know, love is a double edged sword. It can hurt just as much as it can feel euphoric. I hope everyone sitting at my wake will know just how completely I loved each of them. I hope that rather than grieving a loss of life they’ll grieve the love. But also, have been loved so thoroughly that they continue to feel its presence even after I’ve gone and can give no more. This is my greatest hope but also my greatest fear, because there’s a chance they may not feel this way, and if the afterlife is real or I’m looking upon the room of people as some white sheet Charlie Brown ghost, and cannot sense that they felt loved – I will have failed every one of them, and myself. I will have failed to tell them when I loved them and I think that’s just about the worst thing you can do in this life. Something you didn’t do. To have left someone wondering until their own demise if you loved them at all. 

An act of love can change a persons life, for better or sadly sometimes worse. But even in it's lowliest form it teaches us something and makes us better at loving others. It's one of the few intangible things that nourishes us and so we shouldn't be weary of consuming it. It embraces us without physical touch. It proves to be a good home. Love embodies people and people can embody love too. Unfortunately if you came here for advice from an expert and made it through this mess of thought, you've realized you're in the wrong place. The best I can do, if you'll accept guidance about love from an amateur, is this:

Step one: Tell someone you love them today whether through a hug or a note or a picture frame you carefully picked out for their photo. Make it clear it's love you're giving them, not to be confused with something less valuable. 

Step two: refer to step one.

// Ugly Little Letters //

 I have such a terrible relationship with my phone. I love being able to pick up my little box and find out: "how much money does it cost to use a song in a movie?" (the answer is "up to $60,000". by the way, which is absurd). I love having absolutely no idea how to get somewhere and just allowing my phone to be my guide. I love being able to capture any moment without thought. But I hate how it functions to replace conversation. My anxieties and insecurities cannot withstand the lack of tone, mannerisms, deliverance, and quality. An average conversation with a friend who I've been close with for years can in a moment make me feel as though they've decided they hate me. They've grown tired of me and my act has gotten old. And there's no one to talk me down from that place. It very well could be true - or maybe I'm expanding on the smallest grammatical choice they made because I'm an over-analyzer. This is likely the case nine times out of ten, yet I'll never know for sure, because only an unhinged person would ask if everything was okay every time they felt unsure of the tone of a text. But that’s where this kind of conversing has led me. 

I think texting and instant messaging apps have drastically decreased the quality of my conversations and in some cases my relationships. I'm confident that a lot of people do not feel this same way or at least as frequently as I do; that they simply see the ease and convenience of text messages. My irrational thoughts in regard to my phone are likely the result of growing up at the same time that social media and technology started becoming a powerhouse and gaining permanence rather than being just a fad. That in combination with an overactive, people-pleasing mind so please bear with any irrationalities in the rest of this. 

Not only does pushing buttons on a screen and receiving digital words from friends make me anxious, it lacks clarity (outside of my irrational fears). I don't get to understand how you feel about what you're saying to me. A simple sentence which appears sloppy and unthoughtful might have been delivered pleasantly and with gusto in person - but I'll never know. Unless you're typing in all capitals or using many exclamation marks - and even then, that only feels like excitement to me. That's another thing. You might think using all lowercase with no punctuation feels gentle and easy, but maybe it looks careless or sad or disinterested to the person receiving your messages. We all have different perceptions of what a 'normal' text looks like, or what a flirtatious text looks like, or a cry for help, or a kind and nurturing one. Text messages do not allow the kind of depth we need to fully understand a person, unless your recipient is bluntly honest and forward all of the time. 

You can learn a lot about someone and what they're truly feeling just by watching them during conversation. Are they speaking intensely, are they making eye contact, or looking away? Are they taking pauses to collect themselves or are they rushing through the dialogue? Are their "mhm"'s genuinely confirming your experiences and thoughts or are they merely an acknowledgement that you're speaking but they aren't interested? Body language is everything. Think back to a time you were interested in someone romantically. Maybe you were on a first date or maybe you were at a party and they were completely unaware that your pulse quickened when they were near. Whatever the case may be, I guarantee you were acutely cognizant of this person's movements. At the beginning of the evening they sit a normal distance away, but as the hours passed you noticed the space between you grow smaller. They look mostly away from you while they speak, but when you talk, they can't stop looking right at you. At your eyes when you smile, your lips when your sentences weave together like lines from a Fitzgerald novel. You notice what they notice. Whether you speak for hours or only minutes, it's clear how someone is feeling if you know what to look for. By the end of the date, or party, it's likely you knew how they felt about you. But when you send a message, to anyone for any reason, there's a lack of dimension to the letters on a screen. 

There's also nothing to risk when you're behind that screen. Maybe you and a friend left each other passive aggressively earlier in the day. Well now that you're sitting during your lunch break unable to think about anything else, you take out your phone and start tapping away. You get out everything you're thinking, even the harshest thoughts and your small text becomes an entire monologue. You hit send. You had unlimited time to re-read and change what you wrote if it wasn't clear enough. There was no give-and-take like a real in-person conversation because she has no idea this message is pinging to the nearest cell tower and in a matter of seconds will appear in one lump sum on her phone. She also has no time to prepare. She's blindsided and hurt. But it was so easy to indulge in impulsivity because you can't sense after your first couple of sentences that she's beyond upset and regretful of whatever you'd been fighting about before. So you kept typing and typing until you exposed every flaw about her. Sure, this is a worst-case scenario kind of example (with sort of a terrible friend, please don't be this lady) but I'm trying to make a point. Since this form of communication allows its users to be impulsive it also allows thoughtless words and careless actions. Because the biggest "action" being taken is tapping a button on a screen. It's almost intangible, it takes no planning, no revisions of consequence. There's no need to be careful. Just fix the typo with an asterisk in another message - or don't, they'll figure it out. If you've ever tried to say something that was terrifying to say to another person out loud, you know it can feel as though there's a gate in your vocal chords that's locked up tight and the key to open it has gone missing. Then when you finally do speak - if you finally do - it feels as though you're gagging the words right up and out of your throat. But silently typing that same hard thing is lightyears easier because it doesn't feel real. It feels unattached to you - just a jumble of text flying through space to a recipient. Some aspect of identity seems to get lost in this communication. 

Why are we so accustomed to shallow conversations now? When did we decide that convenience triumphed quality and connection? Written words can seem flat and lack any sort of feeling. Which is the same reason not everyone can write a book or a script. It takes a lot of time and skill and editing and thoughtfulness to write and have your audience feel what you mean. And even then, many people may still not understand why what you're saying is meaningful, which is why even books on the bestsellers list still have bad reviews. Texting is the lazy version of prose and doesn't take long to rear its ugly head whether or not it was intentional. All this is not to say that I am quitting this addictive nicotine, because so many of my relationships are distant and if I never indulged in a text message I would rarely hear from those people. What I'm trying to say is, texting will never replace face value even with careful thought and hundreds of emojis and punctuation out the wazoo. It lacks qualities it can never possess. 

I also want to clarify; I do have contacts who rarely if ever leave me feeling confused about tone or devalued because they simply don't want to take the time. There can absolutely be healthy conversations exchanged through messages. But I think even those healthy conversations cannot keep my relationships alive forever. If I only ever texted a partner but never spoke to them in person, we wouldn't last longer than a week. That goes for any relationship - family, friends, partners, co-workers. 

I see the way phones have taken over our attention every day. And some days I think it's just the way of the world, it's just unstoppable progression because technology is the future and that's undoubtedly true, but it doesn't mean it has to be okay. I think we all ought to set time limits on our phones, we should all re-read our messages to see if we're delivering emotionally as much as we're delivering in words. Even though we can instantly respond, it doesn't mean we always should. 

I find that my device which initially was provided to me as a tool, is now a crutch. For instance, when I'm in a waiting room as soon as I sit down, I take out my phone, or if I'm waiting for a friend at a coffee shop, I take out my phone. I don't tell the woman across from me in the waiting room I like her shoes. I don't chat to the person in line next to me or anyone else. I cower in my life within my phone. I hide behind my enslaving, consuming little device. But it's so easy to enter the void, isn't it? It's so easy to retreat to certainty. Because maybe the woman with the nice shoes is insufferably annoying and talks too much. Or maybe the person in line ignores your attempt at conversation and bruises your ego. But your little machine would never do that. Your favourite apps refresh and more content than you can devour appears without limitations for infinity. There's no risk. But no risk also means no reward. A safety net doesn't allow growth, and therein lies the issue with relying on my phone in public spaces when other people are present. I also fear we've reached a place where even if I decided to leave my phone in my pocket in the waiting room, the lady with the nice shoes would be too engrossed in her own phone to notice me and the fellow customer at the coffee shop would be too busy answering emails to notice anyone else. 

So how can we build any new connections in real life if we're always in an electronic one? I want to meet people honestly. For them to see my flaws and inconsistencies and awkwardness and lack of perfection and I want to see the same thing from them. It's unnatural to have a perfect, pleasing, gorgeous identity and have others believe that's what you truly are. I think it's endearing to be messy, to not always have it together - hell! to never have it together. Why should we? We are taking every single day as it comes and learning and changing and growing every moment that passes. No one has it all, and no one knows what they're doing. So why is there this need to prove to everyone that we do? That we're content? I don't know about you, but I can't think of a point in time where I felt wholly contented. Sure, there have been moments and experiences, but overall, I have been unable to ditch the longing for an answer, for a feeling of being complete and happy. I think that's human and I'm worried that without admitting our fears and feelings and mistakes and flaws, we'll lose sight of what we really wanted, of who we intended to be. We'll stop growing. Because there's no need when you can snap a photo, edit the crap out of it, post it with a caption implying a well-rounded life, and fool everyone around you. There's no need when you can lie behind text messages because the person you're talking to can't hear your voice waver or see your cheeks get rosy. There's no need when you can avoid everything and ghost the world. 

I know I'd be naive to think technology will ever slow down. I know it will just continue to become a larger part of our lives, and that genuinely worries me. I'm not against it, I love some of my tech and geek out on a lot of it, it's super cool. I just wish human nature didn't get left in the dust, I wish there was more of a balance and that people (including myself) could break their habits and see how deeply it affects them and the people around them. I genuinely fear that forty years down the road we'll be sitting in our supercomputer chairs out in space with barely any bone mass left, more obese than ever before, drinking all of our meals through a straw, unaware of the thousands of people surrounding us just an arm’s length away! Okay so maybe that's the premise of Disney Pixar's animated film WALL-E... that movie was generations ahead of its time... But in all seriousness, I really think we're headed into a future where the quality of conversation will have withered away to nothing and face value will have no value. I also am not admitting to being some phone hating, non-user. I'm frequently on my phone and texting others, but I wish this wasn't the case. I wish I wasn't so guilty of so many of the things I described earlier. It's hard to break ugly habits and to live life as less of a consumer. But I am trying, and the small things I've been doing to stop leaning on my bad habits have made significant differences for me. I feel more grounded and more aware of my own goals, happiness, and my life as a whole. 

So the next time you're sitting in a waiting room, or on the bus, or waiting in line for coffee, notice what's around you - who is around you - and make an effort to talk. It doesn't even have to be a stranger; I see people staring at their phones while their best friend is standing right beside them. Or maybe you don't want to talk to anyone, that's okay too. Take the moment to be present. Notice you're alive and breathing, what do you smell? What do you see around you and what do those things mean to you? A moment of reflection or mindfulness might clear your head a little, give you perspective or just remind you of how spectacular it is that you've arrived at this place. So many things had to happen for you to be where you are, right now. Set your phone, laptop, or tablet down and consume the real world surrounding you right now instead of the one in your hand. There's a reason all these other people are here too. Life isn't mean to be scrolled through. It's meant to be lived.

// Reflections on Change //

I think my earliest memory is on a bike. Alone. I remember the colors of the frame – blue, red, yellow. A Supercycle. I’m sure this is the earliest memory for a lot of people. At the time it was the first stroke of independence we all craved for. That bike was mine. I dreamt it would take me places, far away. And the most vivid memory following my first solo ride is the sting of falling off that same bike onto loose gravel. The way it scared me was worse than the actual pain itself. And that was the first time I realized something I loved could hurt me. The second time was a few minutes later when my Mum rinsed out the cuts with alcohol and Polysporin. 

My childhood feels distant now, and short, and faded. I question most of what I can remember, hoping I haven’t forgotten it all already. If I’m being honest, aside from a few vivid feelings and images, most of my life up until maybe the third grade is opaque or missing from my mind. Then until maybe age fifteen it’s rusty. It scares me to have lived all this time but only recall (intensely) the last eight years or so with complete certainty. 

I grew up in a very rural area across from an open mine where they blasted - and still do - for gypsum rock. To this day I still only know two uses for gypsum, and that’s drywall and toothpaste. You know the little gritty bits you sometimes feel through the mint? That’s gypsum. Now, when I say rural, I mean quite rural. The only kids that were around and my age were the neighbours two sons who were both younger than me. So I spent a lot of my time playing alone, or with my older siblings until they got too old to play with their kid-sister. Our house sits almost 800 feet from the road, so traffic noise was minimal, and winters spent shovelling were a bitch. Surrounding the house is forest in every direction and you can’t even see the neighbour’s house. As a child, it felt like we were living in another world all our own. 

There’s an apple orchard halfway up the driveway that produces an abundance of apples every other year, about four or five different kinds. And blackberry bushes and raspberry bushes used to grow wildly all throughout it and alongside the driveway as well. Though I did climb the apple trees from time to time, I was more of a shaker – always shaking the tree branches to see what I could harvest as I was too small to reach the apples without worm holes. Behind the house are woods filled with various species of trees that my Dad still quizzes me on to this day. Beyond that lie a field, a rock quarry to the top left, and then another hayfield above the first field. The land our home is built on is wild. Touched only by mother nature herself, my father disturbed as little of it as he could and taught us to do the same.

October used to feel like one of the most exciting months when I was little, piling up leaves and jumping into them as if I couldn't be hurt over and over never grew old. Biking fast down the driveway and hearing the leaves scuttle behind in a whirlwind made me feel unstoppable, and carving pumpkins and eating the seeds until my gums were sore was pure bliss. But I used to hear talk from adults that it was one of their least favourite times of the year. I never used to understand why, I thought watching mother nature let things die was so beautiful because she did it with such grace. She let go more elegantly than any person I'd met. But now it seems like a tragic time for her, having to grieve all the beautiful things she brought to life. She must sit back and watch each of her children crack and wither, falling from great heights to decompose. No parent should ever have to do that. 

Allowing myself time to reflect on the past shines such a bright light on my perception of things from one year to the next. I only started dreading autumn in recent years. And what changed to make that so? I can't say for sure - I suppose my outlook on life changed. Or maybe one too many deaths made their way into my life, maybe it was as simple as a piece of literature I'd read. But I don't discount my past self's opinions, I can value the growth I've made even though I'm not sure if I'm growing towards the sun or not. I think any amount of change has gotta count for something. 

These days it's less hurtful when something I love is painful. I'm no longer a shaker, cuz you can never be sure what will fall from the tree. I understand death more, so I see the colors of autumn as burnt rather than bright. I cherish what memories I have and hold them close because who knows what I'll forget in a week? I've shed skins, survived rotations, grown deeper roots and taller branches, I've been ten people at least and I'm ready to be dozens more. I hope that just as the seasons, I never cease changing.

// Smallish //

I often think about how lovely small things are. I don't particularly love grand gestures or events. They seem unnatural and foreign, like a wall outlet at the bottom of the sea. Small things make me smile with the most teeth and cry the biggest crocodile tears. I'm talking about the walk you and a lover took one evening that turned into a run through the rain. The way the sun shines through the window on a cold winter day and makes you remember the summer.

Life has such a natural and often exhausting ebb and flow, that small things in it can be easily overlooked. I'd be such a hypocrite if I said I never got stuck dwelling on the bad bits that often seem like the only bits.

But I'm starting to think the biggest decisions and parts of our lives are worth less than all the little things. Because when I think back to my childhood memories or even life's memories, I think about how sweet my mum's skin smelled in the middle of the summer, or my father abruptly laughing at his own jokes. I think about the hot tears running down my face remembering the beautiful parts of someone else's life once it was over. I think about hide and seek in the farming fields that had been left uncut and towered three feet over our little heads and lying together waiting to be found. I think about the kiss I kindly asked for and received in a crowded bar and the rush that came with it. Trespassing onto a roof in the freezing cold so we might catch a glimpse of stars and forget our busy stressful lives for a minute.

I think about all these smallish things I've been so lucky to be a part of and I can feel pride gushing from my heart. How lucky I am to have these memories and feelings. And how strange it is that no one ever writes bestsellers about these things that matter the most, how strange it is that the most popular blockbusters do nothing but depict elaborate fiction.

Call me when a movie about the time we ate creamsicles in our bathing suits while Dad put up the pool comes out. I'm so tired of fiction. I'm so tired of paying for falsification and meeting people who revel in it. I'd much rather celebrate how small our lives are, because then we can appreciate it so much more. I wanna read the story of a regular person who has regular experiences and feels just as much and deeply and widely as I do.

// Side 'A' //

I spent yesterday with one of my sisters in the heart of Halifax. The heat of the day enrobed us suddenly and unexpectedly. Alas, September 29th left us feeling like July had just begun. As we waltzed through the concrete dance floors of the city, other people choreographed their own routines from a safe distance.

A young woman my age pushed a bicycle with one hand and held a melting ice cream with the other, wearing a monochromatic outfit that somehow still seemed vibrant even though it consisted of varying beiges. A man who had gone for a run was obviously unprepared for the thickness of humidity that soon made it hard for him to breathe, let alone pick up the pace. Two business men furthered their stereotype with dull, rude conversation we heard in passing, and a group of youths with matching t-shirts floated by in a chatter like a school of fish.

The day was filled with assorted activities, quality time and a sisterly comfort - akin to a box of Quality Street but just the good flavours, none of those orange créme nasties. Though many of our conversations held material that felt lowly, laughter was frequent and smiles were impenetrable. Maybe we were suppressing harsh realities or maybe we really could find the brighter side of each subject, assuming the role of modern day comediennes. 

About mid-afternoon, my sister spontaneously suggested we duck into Taz Records which we had nearly passed. Turning the first corner in the store we found an abundance of cassette tapes. Picking one up in my hand we both began to smile and reminisce over the few tapes we would play and rewind for that one song until the tape was falling out and we were winding it back up with a pen or pencil. "Man, it'd be so cool to have a cassette player again." And seconds after that thought was voiced, I spotted a player just above my eye-line. Without a second thought, I knew I was going home with it. And so we began hunting through the cassettes, old and new, desperate for hidden treasures within a wall of genres and artists.

Later that evening, back home in my bedroom, I put two double 'A' batteries into the player and with some muscle memory, slid the glossy tape into its slot and pressed play. It's interesting how an uneven wavering sound immediately transported me to a more innocent and exciting part of my life. I didn't even hear a voice or lyric but the sheer textures presented to me due to imperfections on the tape made me nostalgic. Of course the quality of cassette tapes are nothing like streaming platforms where you have a personal equalizer to finely tune every sound the way you want it. Snobby audiophiles would turn their noses up at a cassette. Yet the tangible-ness of this format left me aching. 

It was nice to lie in bed holding the player on my chest and feel the reels feed me the next lyric: "Oh, in no time at all, This'll be the distant past". How appropriate. Here I was, clutching a thing from my past, feeling everything a little too deeply while the future hung over me like a dreadful cloud of uncertainty. I undoubtedly needed to start figuring things out and taking a step in some direction, but all I could do in that moment was grasp the tape player a little tighter and listen to the rest of Side A.

Sometimes it's easier to look back than forward.

Welcome to my blog!

Frequently these days, I find myself trapped in my head. And for the most part it's alright in there, but after a while it gets a little claustrophobic, a little paranoid, a little lonely. So I'm starting a blog to share my innermost monologue that has continued to go unheard for decades. Perhaps it's better off left that way, but maybe a couple of people passing through will stop to read a word or two and just maybe feel a little less alone. After all, "The beauty of literature is that you discover your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong." 

I guess I'm mostly writing this for myself anyway, like I said, to get out of my head. I hope that with a little dedication this will slowly become a growing collection of my thoughts, opinions and experienced moments brought to life through words. That this will serve a purpose to someone, even if it's just me. 

This is The Bits and Pieces.