When I grow up I'll live in the city
I'm procrastinating and ruminating. I found a book with some old poems in it today, and read through them. Aside from the uncomfortable feeling, not unlike being seen accidentally naked by someone's parents, it also brought me back to my last year of high school.
Remember that magical year, when you thought the world would never end, and you could be anyone, anything, when everything just shone, despite your cynicism and depression? A specific note in the book, from my Writer's Craft teacher, reminded me of who I used to be:
"You have a duty to share your gift for poetry...next obvious step is publication."
Vivian came in the room then, and asked what I was doing. I told her that mommy used to be more than just a mommy. I got through one stanza, and she left.
Nice huh?
I started thinking about my friend Stace. We were fairly close my last year of high school, or at least as close as someone can get to me. I'm not exactly verbose in some aspects of my life, and I always feel restrained from the people who know me. It's not safe you see. Stace is, well, she's Stace. She incredibly talented and strong and has a certain burning wit about her. She's also one of the prettiest people I've ever met, though she'd never admit it. She was gonna do film, and I was going to write, we were going to meet our dreams in the future. We talked about living in Toronto, getting out of our shithole little town and living, really living.
We'd sit high on acid in parks, staring at the stars, talking about where we'd go, what we'd do. We didn't have anything, and for some reason, it never really mattered. We just sat in those moments, and waited for tomorrow.
It's been 10 years since we had those silly late night talks, since her and I and Jay sat watching the sunrise flare up over the St Lawrence River, burning out our eyes and our hearts to such a degree, we didn't talk for 20 minutes after it rose. I'll remember that image forever, and the awe it gave us sustains me.
Stace comes home today from 2 months spent in South America. And I'm JEALOUS. SOOOOO insanely jealous. But at the same time, I'm not.
The part of me that's jealous is that little nagging voice that reminds me that I haven't done what I set out to do. I haven't become a published author. I don't have the will or the discipline to write daily, or to set real goals for myself. In some regards I'm aimless and rather vapid with my "talent".
The other part of me reminds me that my children, my house and husband, were never ever part of the life that stretched out before me, and that I took a chance, and walked that road instead of the one that would surely have left me alone in a grungy apartment somewhere. My children inspire me everyday in ways I've never thought possible, and this assures me that my words are not gone, but merely waiting, lurking in the backround.
Stace has a good life, from where I sit. She has friends, a busy job, but I don't think she's always happy with her choices either. Does she worry about who she'll spend her life with? Will she have kids? Because honestly, in my mind, I saw her getting married and having kids before me. She'll be a wonderful mother to her children when they arrive.
But she got off her rump, and made her trip happen, made a life change, because reading her travel journal assures me that her life, her being, has been changed. And it's wonderful. It's incredible for me to still be friends with anyone after all this time. And it's a weird and neat feeling to be proud of them for reaching out, and taking a chance, much the same as I did 8 years ago when I took my husbands hand and started my own trip.
I miss those lazy nights sometimes, and I miss all the talk about "the future". I miss just being, that sense of being alive with no where to burn the time.
But I love where I am right now.
Welcome home Stace.
Remember that magical year, when you thought the world would never end, and you could be anyone, anything, when everything just shone, despite your cynicism and depression? A specific note in the book, from my Writer's Craft teacher, reminded me of who I used to be:
"You have a duty to share your gift for poetry...next obvious step is publication."
Vivian came in the room then, and asked what I was doing. I told her that mommy used to be more than just a mommy. I got through one stanza, and she left.
Nice huh?
I started thinking about my friend Stace. We were fairly close my last year of high school, or at least as close as someone can get to me. I'm not exactly verbose in some aspects of my life, and I always feel restrained from the people who know me. It's not safe you see. Stace is, well, she's Stace. She incredibly talented and strong and has a certain burning wit about her. She's also one of the prettiest people I've ever met, though she'd never admit it. She was gonna do film, and I was going to write, we were going to meet our dreams in the future. We talked about living in Toronto, getting out of our shithole little town and living, really living.
We'd sit high on acid in parks, staring at the stars, talking about where we'd go, what we'd do. We didn't have anything, and for some reason, it never really mattered. We just sat in those moments, and waited for tomorrow.
It's been 10 years since we had those silly late night talks, since her and I and Jay sat watching the sunrise flare up over the St Lawrence River, burning out our eyes and our hearts to such a degree, we didn't talk for 20 minutes after it rose. I'll remember that image forever, and the awe it gave us sustains me.
Stace comes home today from 2 months spent in South America. And I'm JEALOUS. SOOOOO insanely jealous. But at the same time, I'm not.
The part of me that's jealous is that little nagging voice that reminds me that I haven't done what I set out to do. I haven't become a published author. I don't have the will or the discipline to write daily, or to set real goals for myself. In some regards I'm aimless and rather vapid with my "talent".
The other part of me reminds me that my children, my house and husband, were never ever part of the life that stretched out before me, and that I took a chance, and walked that road instead of the one that would surely have left me alone in a grungy apartment somewhere. My children inspire me everyday in ways I've never thought possible, and this assures me that my words are not gone, but merely waiting, lurking in the backround.
Stace has a good life, from where I sit. She has friends, a busy job, but I don't think she's always happy with her choices either. Does she worry about who she'll spend her life with? Will she have kids? Because honestly, in my mind, I saw her getting married and having kids before me. She'll be a wonderful mother to her children when they arrive.
But she got off her rump, and made her trip happen, made a life change, because reading her travel journal assures me that her life, her being, has been changed. And it's wonderful. It's incredible for me to still be friends with anyone after all this time. And it's a weird and neat feeling to be proud of them for reaching out, and taking a chance, much the same as I did 8 years ago when I took my husbands hand and started my own trip.
I miss those lazy nights sometimes, and I miss all the talk about "the future". I miss just being, that sense of being alive with no where to burn the time.
But I love where I am right now.
Welcome home Stace.
BEST BLOGGING EVER !
Seriously, that was the work of a writer if I've ever seen it. Move over Dean Cunt. Uh, I mean KOONTZ. Yeah, that's it. lol
Posted by
Anonymous |
1:39 p.m.
I worked lurking in there. That alone is a victory in my books. (As you can see, getting a TON of work done today.)
Posted by
thordora |
3:52 p.m.
You sooo remind me of my own days spent watching the sun come up over the St Lawrence. I am not now where I thought I would be then. If life stayed put, your goals would always be the same, but life moves and changes, and you have to too.
Posted by
Anonymous |
11:23 p.m.
My life is not what I dreamed of as a kid.
It's not worse - just different and I no longer do the "what ifs" (or not often to be absolutely honest).
Great post.
Posted by
Anonymous |
7:33 a.m.
I have some regrets too, like not being brave enough or focused enough to go to Europe and work for a few years after HS. Instead the now hubby and I moved to another province, I worked while he went to university. Then we got all domestic like.
Posted by
Anonymous |
10:42 a.m.
thanks for the post, it was nice. I think of those days very often, especially when i am back there visiting my mother. I also am jealous of your life sometimes, as often i am quite certain that i will remain alone forever.
miss you lots.
Posted by
Anonymous |
2:39 p.m.
I think I understand how you feel...every day I'm older at least once, I pause to think of everything I gave up on, in exchange for what I have now and try to remember why I"m grateful for being where I am. Otherwise, I'd probably be dead by now.
Posted by
Anonymous |
5:18 p.m.
You don't have the will or the discipline to write daily yet you post on your blog just about every day? Hey, I think you're selling yourself short, girly! ;)
Posted by
Anonymous |
1:25 a.m.
I think the one thing that people SHOULD teach us as teenagers is that our expectations are too much sometimes, and to broaden them. Looking back, I wish I hadn't had such a narrow view of my future. Although at least now, I think I have one.
Stace, you'll be a great mom when they come. They're just taking their time. :)
Posted by
thordora |
9:22 a.m.