make me human. keep me humble.

It's my own fault, really. I read blogs of women who are accomplished photographers and graphic designers, and then when it comes time for my own weekly blog post, I feel

inadequate and

like I've got nothing to show.

Plus most of the time these days I find I walk around with less-than-inspiring thoughts. Tired, just-want-to-get-out-of-my-work-clothes-and-curl-up-with-a-chick-lit-novel-and-escape thoughts. Lately it's been hitting me, over and over like a dodgeball, or - what was that ball called that was attached to a rope, that was attached to a pole, and it would spin around and you'd hit it? Whatever that ball was called, my thoughts are like that these days. Spinning back around, hitting me again.

Here's what keeps coming back at me - you're human, kid.

You'd have thought I would KNOW this. My blog is called "humin bean" for goodness' sakes. And it's not like I'm some other species. But it seems that I go around thinking I'm supposed to be better than human, that I'm supposed to always be thinking inspired, powerful, grounded and sensible thoughts. Or getting my life "figured out", as if a person's LIFE can be summed up and then conquered by a really great PLAN.

But instead of always being some super-human, inspired and positive radiant being, a good portion of the time I'll feel cranky, irritable, annoyed at things. Or jealous of other people's success. Or seriously putting off looking at my financial stuff. (I really, really hate budgeting, it seems. It makes me really uncomfortable to sit down with my papers and a calculator and crunch numbers.) Or just down on myself.

And every time I think something along those lines, a voice pipes up with hey, you're human, kid. As in, cut yourself some slack. Every single person out there feels the same way sometimes. It's all a part of the thing called life, and life wouldn't be normal without these feelings.

Still though, I forget. I ignore the truth. Then the dodgeball - or whatever it was called - comes spinning around the pole again. Have compassion for yourself. Smack. Smack. Smack.

So when it comes to posting on my blog, I need to remember: not only am I human, but I'm allowed to write whatever the heck I want. It doesn't have to be some amazing photo shoot of really interesting and beautiful things, or an inspired re-telling of a fantastic event, or even a creative interpretation of day-to-day stuff. It can just be - this.

And that feels brave.

***

Clocks fell backward and we returned to Standard Time. Now when I am done work at 5 pm, it's dark out. It always feels like a surprise, this time of year. The darkness coming on at 4 pm - right now, in fact - like an invitation to go to bed early. To snuggle up, to wear drawstring velour pants. To breathe out. To realize, the year is almost over, and that's OK.

the busy

Another busy week. It's funny how "busy" is both a cross to bear and a badge of honor. We are busy women, therefore we have a right to be here. I am busy, hear me roar! I am so busy, busy busy busy. I am needed by all these projects, therefore I am needed, therefore I am worthy.

I'm not suggesting that we're making all this busy-ness up. I know that especially for those with kids, it's how life is and you just swim with the current and struggle to keep up with it all. I know for those of us without kids, it can still get pretty damn busy. Some of us are students, thrashing around with our theses, trying to pin them to the ground. Some of us have jobs that keep us challenged and running from one project to the next. Some of us, on top of our jobs or maybe until the next job comes, have other projects taking up our time.

I was sick last week. I got a cold - and I nipped it in its bud. I kept it at a low level by lying low, resting and drinking herb teas. Now I'm back to work. My throat is still tender and I still cough at the itch every few minutes. Part of the reason why I went back to work was that I was needed - but part of the reason was that I needed it. I didn't like being at home, half-able to do stuff and half not. My house is beautiful and my bed and couch are comfy - but - I like who I am when I'm dressed in "office casual" and at the library, doing one of my two jobs.

Waves come onto the shore in cycles. I learned this last summer when I visited friends who live literally right on the beach, their house a scanty twenty feet from the Atlantic Ocean. You have to know waves to surf them, and you have to know waves to be safe from them when the ocean is stormy. Apparently waves come in sets of six or so. Six little ones. Then six bigger ones. Then six little ones. Then six even bigger ones. And back and forth, going to really big and then back to really little. So if you see five little waves and you think, "Oh, this is safe, I can stand really close to these waves," be careful because the next set is apt to be a big one.

The reason for this rambling about waves is I've been thinking about lessons. How we learn lessons. We tend to think that we learn the same damn lessons over and over and over. But maybe each little lesson that we learn - each time - is just a wave in a bigger cycle. A little wave making up a bigger set, a longer pattern.

When I was sick last week, I learned (yet again) about slowing down. I learned, yet again, that you CAN slow down. That when you do stop something, when you do say "No, I can't work today," and stay home, the world keeps spinning on its axis. The sun still moves through the sky. People elsewhere still go about their own daily lives. Lots of nonsense and some good stuff still gets published on the Internet (whether you're there to read it or not). You breathe. In and out. You keep breathing. You rest.

Going back into it, into my schedule, into my "life" (as though my scheduled events are all that keep me together, are all that make ME), I'm trying to remember to breathe and take it all with a relaxed attitude. Yes, I could take the crammed book deposit box with all the books to be discharged as a stressful thing, along with the people who come in and need my attention, et cetera. Or, I could do the book discharging in as relaxed a way as possible, remembering to breathe, remembering to sit up straight, remembering to take a second here and there and zone out entirely. Because if I can't do the perfectly normal tasks of my job and my life in a relaxed way? I don't want to be doing them.

I learned, yet again, that it's not worth it to me to live in a rushed way. But what I realized a second after that is what's harder to put into practice. That: it is up to ME to then slow things down. To take those seconds to stare off into space, and not punish myself for it. To literally put brakes on myself - and apply them. Meaning - when I'm rushing from one thing to the next, I have to notice it, then pull at myself as you would at a wayward horse or a runaway car - put the brakes on. Slow it down.

Why run when you can walk?

hey, it's OK...

In Glamour magazine, there is a page called the "Hey, it's OK" page. I don't buy Glamour anymore, for reasons both economical and social, but I do still have a few of these pages, ripped from Glamour, tacked up on my wall. And I've added to them, too - in blue ballpoint pen I've written in my own things that it's OK to have, do or be.

I like the idea of a list like this. It runs in the same vein as the phrase "Just enough is plenty," which I wrote about a few weeks ago, and which my cousin Maile was inspired by. The idea these two phrases share is that you don't need to be Super You in order to have a healthy and happy life. "Just enough" of something is just that, enough. And therefore, plenty. All you need.

Where "hey, it's OK..." comes in is as a reminder, and as a list we can post on our actual walls, or just carry around in our heads. We then apply the phrase to whatever it is that's flying around us like a pesky horsefly, wanting to land and bite us with guilt. "You're not sexy enough! You're not thin enough! You don't have all of this [whatever your project might be] under control! Everything is chaotic! Why even start that when you know you won't finish it perfectly?" Et cetera, ad nauseum.

Here is the list I have posted on my wall. It's from the May 2008 Glamour. What I've added in blue pen to the real list, I've added here in blue too.

After you read it, tell me your additions to the list. They don't have to be witty, they just have to be true.



Hey, it's OK...

...to cancel things.

...to have a strict no-bed-making policy on weekends. And no socializing, if that's how you feel.

...if you've never quite figured out what to do with the back of your hair. Or the front!

...to ask for whatever it is - an intern, an appliance, a third shot in your cappuccino - that helps you get the job done.

...if you're happy to have sex on the beach, provided it's actually on a bed in a room in a house that's on the beach.

...to buy $200 shoes but hoard Splenda packets from Starbucks.

...if you just don't get the appeal of techno and some indie music.

...to make your guy see the Sex and the City movie with you. Consider if payback for Rambo.

...if you're not especially interested in finding yourself. (Some days of the week.)

...TO SAY NO.





***

hot hot heat

When the weather report reads like this, you know you're not just imagining it, it's hot:

Today: Sunny. Wind west 20 km/h. High 32 except 28 along parts of the coast. UV index 9 or very high.

32! That's between 90 and 100 Fahrenheit, folks. And it's been like this for, uh, days. And it's going to continue for at least another... few days. OK, I know Cape Breton really doesn't have it all that bad, considering. But I am here, and it is quite hot out, and so like any Maritimer worth her salt, I'm going to complain about it. Hot weather, as Calvin, the man who cuts our lawn even in weather like this, says, "takes the good out of ya."

Here's my simple, step-by-step plan to put the good back in. It doesn't involve alcohol, but if that's how you roll, go right ahead. (And if this is the case, may I suggest Gin and Tonics in moderation. If it's good enough for the Queen Mum, it's good enough for you! Just make sure to drink lots of water too, as hot weather and booze together makes the body susceptible to dehydration). This plan assumes you don't have ready access to a beach for whatever reason (the only car in the household is at work, you live in a stifling hot city, or for some reason you're allergic to sand). It assumes a few other things too, but don't worry, it can be tailored for nearly any situation. Just use your imagination.

1/ Put on your bathing suit. Take a quick shower, ensuring your hair gets wet. Wrap a beach towel around your waist and head for the kitchen.

2/ Make some iced tea. Pour a glass. Drink. (If you're staying away from caffeine, as I am these days, try iced mint tea. It's quite refreshing!)

3/ Watch Dirty Dancing . There is nothing like the 1960's interpreted by the 1980's, some sassy dancing and of course hot, hot Patrick Swayze to confirm it is, indeed, summer. Do a few dance steps in the living room if you're so inclined. And remember: "Nobody puts Baby in a corner." Key to life, my friend.

4/ Drink more iced tea. In fact, go ahead and apply as needed.

5/ Listen to some flamenco. I'm all about shopping locally when possible, so here's a flamenco group from Newfoundland (no, it's not a joke): El Viento Flamenco . Amazing! Check them out. A summery second best is Bob Marley and/or other reggae: Toots and the Maytals, Peter Tosh, etc.

6/ As soon as you find yourself drying off, head back to the shower and repeat. I find the only crucial part of this is the showering, so feel free to substitute any films, music, or drinks, and multiply or divide as needed for the amount of people present.

Before we know it, it will be evil February again, so we might as well make the best of it, right?

not exploding, just moving (at a slower pace)

"Unless you are utterly exploded, there is always something to be grateful for." (From Bellow, Saul. Herzog. Ed. Irving Howe. New York: Viking, 1976. p.7)

The other day Marlo was reading this book at the kitchen table, and I was reading Scarlet Feather, by Maeve Binchy. She laughed aloud at this quote and then read it to me, and then wrote it out onto a scrap of paper which I tucked into my book for safekeeping. I did that because it seems the sort of advice to keep with you at all times, and it will also remind me of Marlo.

Not that going home to Cape Breton is at all comparable to being utterly exploded, as there are many, many good things about home and being there. The sound of birdsong from the porch is one. The restfulness of the woods is another. But this is a big change for me, moving home and leaving here uncertain of return, and I've not yet completely recovered from the rough period that began this past February. Each day is still a question mark, some days are good, and some days I have very little energy and can't do very much. It will still be some time before I'm up to my usual tricks, or up to tackling anything too difficult. It is hard to admit this, because as Chloe said to me the other day, "You're quite a go-getter!"

I was very used to going and getting, it is true, and these days involve a lot of staying and resting. I find it hard to accept the fact that my body wants me to stop and let it rest until it needs no more resting, not just recharge enough to pretend I'm OK. I find it hard to accept that this can happen without my consent! I also find it hard to accept that when it comes down to it, after all my fears that no-one will understand, the person who understands the least is actually myself.

However, when I think about it, I realize that these things that are hard to accept are actually just fine. The harder it is, the better I will feel as I begin to accept them. Does that make sense? The harder the task, the better you feel when you accomplish it.

So, back to the point of this post: I'm going home to Cape Breton. I should also mention that none of the packing that has been happening lately would have been possible without my mother, who came here last week and is spending her week off here with me, helping me every step of the way. It sure makes a difference to have her here to tell me what needs doing, and do the things that I can't.

On Sunday we pack the little Golf and move. In the process I have to get rid of my old monitor, as it barely works right now, and I am going to dump it here and then buy a new one when I get home, a flat-screen model. I made many calls and nowhere in Fredericton is there a place to safely dispose of computer equipment, so unfortunately for my ethics and principles this monitor I've used for five years is going to end up in the landfill. It seems such a waste! Why, oh why, can't recycling technologies and businesses fill this obvious need as quickly as I would like them to? (She cried to the skies, not expecting a satisfactory answer.)

I probably won't get a new monitor right away, so I'll be using my mother's computer on a slow connection, or the computers at the library in town, my old fall-back method for when at home. That, combined with how little energy I've got these days, and the fact that I really do love posting, means I will still post, just not all the time. I just wanted y'all to know.

Allow me to counteract what seem like moderately unpleasant comments in this post with a few "good things", but have no fear, I'm not turning into Martha Stewart:

1. Maeve Binchy novels with their comforting predictability and take-charge heroines.
2. Driving out into the country with Mum, Marlo and a map.
3. The way the indoors feels when it rains out: cozy, complete.
   
4. Lebanese takeaway: falafel wraps, grape leaves filled with soft, tangy rice, tabouleh with lots of parsley, baklava with a melt-in-your-mouth texture.

So, that's all the news at this moment. And if you can't think of anything better to do, some Lebanese takeaway is always a good idea. I'll write again from the little island that could.

*Source of the photograph: unknown. Picked it up somewhere while trawling the Web for inspiration, saved it, and found it again today. If it's yours and you don't want it used, tell me.

after the storm

Wow. Well. Here I am, after a full month of not posting. It feels surprisingly good to fire up the ol' Blogger again, to click on "New Post", to put tentative feelers out into the blogworld --and the world in general-- again.

I can't believe, in some ways, that it has been a month. Each week has brought a fresh batch of challenges, a fresh batch of decisions to make, and feelings to sort through. The "grubby details", as Marlo called them, belong to me and a few close friends, but the truth is simple: I've been sick, am still sick, and am taking time off from school in order to rest and get my strength back. I burnt myself out, more or less, and have had to deal with the consequences, which have been more than I bargained for.

My life has changed since I posted last. The things that remained the same are physical location (Fredericton, New Brunswick, the East Coast of Canada), and the dear friends and family who support this old bean. It's really funny, surreal actually, to stand at the center of your life and watch it change around you, watch yourself stop doing things because you can't do them anymore, and mourn your losses. It's like traveling to a foreign country, not knowing the language or the currency before you get there: you see what happens one day at a time, sometimes one hour or minute at a time, even one breath at a time.

This makes for a more intense experience, for better and for worse. I have certainly become "hyper-aware", as one person put it, of my self, my feelings, my needs and my desires. Having this awareness does not make it any easier to put such needs into practice, but it helps. It also influences what I have to talk about, necessarily! I can't wait for the day when I have a conversation with someone that doesn't include my own issues. But in time, that will come, and I know that having been there for a number of the people who are holding on to the corners of my "safety net" right now means they do, actually, want to be here for me. I'm not a burden as much as I'm just taking my turn at leaning.

What I'm doing right now (along with the physical acts of resting and no longer attending classes, taking a break) is what Clarissa Pinkola Estés calls "homing" or "returning to oneself". She writes about the necessity of this in her bestselling "Women Who Run With The Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype" (New York: Ballantine Books, 1995):

What is homing? It is the instinct to return, to go to the place we remember. It is the ability to find, whether in dark or in daylight, one's home place. We all know how to return home. No matter how long it's been, we find our way. [...]

For some, home is the taking up of an endeavor of some sort. Women begin to sing again after years of finding reason not to. They commit themselves to learn something they've been heartfelt about for a long time. They seek out the lost people and things in their lives. They take back their voices and write. They rest. They make some corner of the world their own. They execute immense or intense decisions. They do something that leaves footprints.

For some, home is a forest, a desert, a sea. In truth, home is holographic. It is carried at full power in even a single tree, a solitary cactus in a plant shop window, a pool of still water. It is also at full potency in a yellow leaf lying on the asphalt, a red clay pot waiting for a root bundle, a drop of water on the skin. When you focus with soul-eyes, you will see home in many, many places. (pp. 283-6).

So I'm homing. I've come through a storm, and now I'm sorting out the mess it left. I'm resting, I'm making good food for myself, I'm taking up things I haven't done in too, too long (writing for myself, drawing with charcoals, pencils, pens, inks, reading a book that isn't for class). I'm mourning the losses, and trusting in something --faith? life? the way things tend to go?-- that the voids will be filled. I'm seeing that indeed they are, one breath, one moment, one day at a time.

Oh and, the picture was taken by Marlo. I like using her photographs to illustrate my writing, because they tend to be of subjects in my immediate environment (since we're room-mates and fellow Fredericton residents and explorers), and she takes such thoughtful and striking photographs. At least, I think so. I also thought that this one, called "iceplants", is both fragile and strong, the kind of strength that comes from remaining, and therefore pertinent. I also really love the colors.

What do you do to go home? What are the endeavors, actions, creations and thoughts that bring you back to yourself? Have you done them lately?

taking the cake

(Image from the kindly folks at Low Resolution)

Fighting the February Funk: Five Favorites

1. Pictures of cupcakes really do help, but real cupcakes are better, I'd bet.
2. Long hot bathtub + lemon oil + candles lit. The best part is leaning your arm against the side of the tub and watching steam curl off it like your breath outside, only better because you're not outside, you're inside, in a bathtub.
3. The music of Angie Stone.
4. Sleeping. It was how we beat November, it's how we'll beat February.
5. Breaking down the work you have to do into manageable chunks (whatever size works for you: from 10 minute blocks to an hour), then spacing these blocks out with enjoyable activities such as: watching movies, going for coffee, lying on the floor and listening to tunes, eating peanut butter from the jar, etc.

And for God's sake, tell me I'm not the only one counting down the days to March Break.

This is not to say there's no beauty in the wintertime, that icicles aren't pretty, or that skating's not fun. I'd have to be half dead not to enjoy the aesthetic pleasures of Fredericton winter--the light at the end of a sunny day, the way the moon looks, trees against snow, all that. I'm just at that point (halfway through the third year of uni? half frozen from the cold? both?) where bathtubs, cupcakes and soul music are necessary.

Et vous?

sleepy bean

I took this picture earlier today to email to Dan along with a bunch of others in a series (it ended with my head on a pillow, a very nice place to be). I think it accurately sums up how I'm feeling nearing the end of a semester that seems to have been revved up from the word "go": damn tired. If I made a list of the reasons why, well, suffice it to say there would be more than one item on it, but that's not really the point, nor what I've learned. And I think on a blog written by a university student, it's important to talk about these sorts of lessons, since my life is not just made up of enjoying snowfalls, going out for coffee with girlfriends, and joyous essay-writing. (In fact, I think "joyous" and "essay-writing" don't really belong in the same sentence. I reserve the word "joy" for things like holding babies, drinking wine with a dear friend, and the first frost.) The lesson is, of course, that there's only so much Leah to go around, and Leah herself wasn't getting enough.

I told a professor I really admire that I wouldn't be able to work with her, and she wrote back to tell me that an important part of success is to know your limitations. Funny how I can tell myself that a hundred times, but hearing it from her has more weight. But when I made the decision to say "no", it added a bit more weight to my own opinion of what my priorities are. It's also funny how we can forget things that seemed so important at a time when things were more balanced: at the end of summer, before uni began, I told myself that my five classes were going to be my priority, that keeping my scholarship, learning lots of stuff, and enjoying my work by also giving myself time off from school were the most important things, and anything more than that was too much to take on. But once I got back on campus, I found I was comparing myself to a lot of other people, seeing what they did or didn't do, took on or didn't take on, and allowing those comparisons to dictate what I, consequently, should do or take on.

As I said to Mum in one of our conversations lately (she's my go-to counsellor, healer, helper) I have realized it is more of an adult thing to do to realize your limitations and make decisions based on that, than it is to take on a whole lot of stuff. Of course, everyone's got their own limit, so someone else's "manageable amount" is my "way too much" or maybe vice versa. And I think as I'm coming into my adult self, this is something I will need to keep remembering, and re-learning.

So what am I going to do about this? Well, for starters, I'm going to read back over last November because the same issues were rearing their ugly heads then, too. Nothing like a little perspective. And I'm going to make sure I get lots of sleep--so much it feels like too much, and then maybe a little more. And as this is a long weekend, I'm going to take full advantage of it, and maybe do something other than schoolwork for a good solid chunk of time (my scrapbook, and oh how painful it is to admit I have a scrapbook, needs last summer put in it, for posterity, and there is always the prose stylings of Diana Gabaldon to spend hours with).

I just wanted to put this out there in case you were feeling the same way. Are you? If not, what do you do about it?

whooping it up

Well, Halloween IS over, but I thought I would scare November away by appearing as my true self my Halloween costume. As Janice reminds us, November is actually the cruellest month, not April, and it needs some scaring away. It is, after all, the month of bare branches, cold rainy days and nights, and long assignments and hours spent in front of the computer completing these assignments, energy ebbing as a result.

In order to fend off the November blahs, I...

• drink ginger tea. So spicy, so delicious!
• buy a nice hand-cream or oil of some kind (I haven't done this yet, but I'm thinking I will, and it will smell of nutmeg or cinnamon)
• go to Sue Lawrence with my ladyfriend, the aforementioned Janice
• send silly sailor photos to said sailors
• use crayons, often and without moderation
• put on my devil horns, all glittery and awesome, and hang out with my room-mates pretending not to notice and see how long they give me funny looks.
• take lots of naps--you can't hate a month if you spend half of it sleeping!
  

What do you do? And do you want to come over and bring your own crayons?

Also, I think the following ladyfriend needs a solid round of blog applause: Miss Laura "runs with hotdogs" Nelson-Hamilton. Miss Laura not only put on the wildly successful Trick Or Eat (read all about it! extra, extra!)
but she is also humble about it. I think any whoopie pies consumed in this city, from this day forward, should be consumed in the name of Laura. We drink to Gill, we clap for Nigeria, and from today on we eat whoopie pies for Laura. Any complaints?

So, hip hip hurray for Lozza! And boo to November. Tell me about it.

to the honorable ex-premier

Dear Bernard Lord,

We are writing to express our sympathies for your recent loss of employment as premier of the province. While we realize you are still in control of a seat of the Legislative Assembly, it is likely that this fundamental change in your life will shake you up, and we would like to extend an offer of friendship to you. We reside at __ ___________________, Fredericton, NB, and always consider our door open to those who are down on their luck, especially those whose images we already have on our walls, looking at us with loving compassion.

Our offer rests on several conditions, however, which you must meet in order to get our full and undying understanding and hospitality. We realize that you will not find them hard to meet, but we list them nonetheless. They are as follows:

1) You must make the drive across the river to our domicile on an ATV (All-Terrain Vehicle), as per the illustration below. See how happy this rider looks? ATVs are probably the best thing to ride, especially if you are unemployed. However, please take side streets on your way here, as we would not want to alert the police.


2) As you are riding your ATV, drink 3 cans of a 6-pack of Wildcat. We require that you show up at our door holding said 6-pack by one of the plastic loops (which one in particular is not important), and that the missing cans have been (a) drunk by yourself on your transportation device and (b) been dropped by the roadside on the way.


3) When you walk in the door, we will only allow entry if you are wearing sweatpants and preferably a matching, but stained, top. We use the following illustration simply to show what sweatpants are, exactly, but do not expect you to resemble the male model. In fact, it is more to our guidelines if you drink several 12-packs of Wildcat in preparation and develop a substantial and respectable beer belly.


4) Optional: mullet.


We are confident that you will not find these requirements difficult to understand, but if you do, please feel free to contact us further at (___) ___-____. We are looking forward to welcoming you to our home the way we have your image above our dehumidifier, which guides our daily actions simply with the look in its brown, compassionate eyes.

Sincerely,

___________