Once Upon a Bus

The oddest thing happened to me today, prompting me to dust the cobwebs from this blog and FINALLY write a new post. I'm not really sure what to make of it and, as I am wont to do in situations such as this one, I turned to the pen and page to sort out my thoughts.

Before I get to my story, there are a few background things to explain. First of all, I started taking the bus regularly this summer because, between work and summer courses, it seemed the easiest method of transportation. However, as someone who suffers with anxiety, city transit can be a pretty scary situation for me. After all, it involves being stuck in a relatively small space with a collection of strangers. Add to that the possibility of getting on the wrong bus or getting off at the wrong stop and *POOF* you get a panic-inducing shuttle straight to the hell of the darkest depths of your imagination. 

Anyhow, today I was at King's Square waiting for bus #3 to take me to UNBSJ. No big deal. Or at least that was what I was trying to convince myself. I was most likely staring at the ground, willing myself to disappear. Then from what seemed like out of nowhere, I felt a hand on my arm. I looked up to see a girl around my age. She was wearing jeans and a faux-leather jacket. Her brown hair was held back in a ponytail and she had a purple book bag slung over one shoulder. I had never seen her before. My mind quickly turned to stranger-danger alert.

"Hey, do you know when the bus that goes to UNBSJ stops here?" she asked.

"8:30, I think. I'm going there too, actually," I replied.

"What time is it now?"

I took out my cell phone. "8:26 - should be here soon."

And lo and behold, the bus pulls up. The girl walked with me to the door, chattering about how convenient monthly bus passes are and did I have one? (I did.) We got on the bus. She went to the back while I balked at the sea of faces before me. I quickly sat down up front and tried to settle my anxiety-riddled brain for the ride ahead. As the bus started on its way, I heard someone sit down beside me. I looked up to see the girl again.

"Hey, I was thinking, we should get together for coffee sometime seeing as we both go to UNBSJ," she said.

"Um, sure," I said, thinking how I'd only just met her.

Then she started telling me a bit about herself (her name was Meghan) and the courses she was taking at university, occasionally asking me some questions about myself. She liked to talk and seemed quite friendly. I was just glad for the distraction from the bus ride and found it easy to talk to her (unusual for me). The drive passed quickly and soon we parted ways on campus. 

I didn't really expect to see her again, truth be told. It's not that I didn't want to - despite how I am generally nervous around others, I do genuinely like people - the frailty of humanity sates my constant need to be compassionate. But it was such a fleeting encounter and, like the many individuals we meet for mere moments before drifting on in life upon our own changing currents, I didn't sense that there was anything that tied us together beyond that one bus ride among the hundreds I'm bound to take in my lifetime. 

How wrong I often am.

Two-and-a-half hours of statistics later and the morning meeting had all but blown into the back corners of my memory. Class had ended a few minutes late and I knew I was going to miss the 11:52 bus that would take me back to King's Square, so of course I was panicking. That's probably why I completely forgot that there were two buses that stopped at the university, but only one that went uptown. So when a bus pulled up a few minutes later, I didn't think to check which one it was and boarded it without a second thought.

I'll pause here and emphasize the point that when I got on the bus, it was empty. Only one other woman got on when I did. I was sitting near the front of the bus and could see who got on and off as the ride progressed. No one boarded, to my knowledge, that I recognized.

As the bus drove along it's route, I still did not realize that anything was amiss because all the stops were the same. But when a man got on and inquired whether the bus was headed uptown and the driver said no that they were going west, I went into full-on panic mode. For me, full-on panic mode means that basically my brain shuts down and I have trouble with things like talking and breathing. So when I heard a voice behind me say, "Oh my gosh, you're not stopping uptown?" and turned around, I was not prepared to see Meghan. Her face mirrored my own.

Somehow I gathered myself together enough to say that I was in the same boat (er, bus). Everything else is a bit of a blur but somehow Meghan got us off the bus, over a wall, through a parking lot, and across a street to another bus stop where a bus eventually took us to King's Square. I got off but Meghan did not. 

She called goodbye. I'm not sure if I'll ever see her again. I don't even know if I properly thanked her. What I do know though, is that if I hadn't met her this morning and if she hadn't somehow appeared on my bus later, today would have gone much worse. I realize that to many who read this, getting on the wrong bus is not a big deal. But for me, it's a nightmare and I'll forever be grateful to Meghan.

What I learned today is that we can never know the extent of how much someone may someday impact us - even if you've just met. In the same way, it is also impossible to tell how we may someday impact another. It's as easy as just looking up and smiling when you pass someone on the street. Or, like Meghan, take it a step further and ask for the time. It can make a world of difference. Heck, if enough people do it, I bet we can make a different world.

In Storm

When I was a kid, I was told that life can give you sunny days and rainy days.

I thought they were talking about the weather.

I thought that by carrying an umbrella, I could shield myself from any pain that would ever come my way.

I was wrong.

What I didn’t know was that a lot of life can be like a hurricane.

There are times when the rushing currents sweep up and overwhelm you.

There are days when the waves leave you battered and bruised

coughing up water

on a sand bar

twenty miles from shore.

Don’t tell me there’s an umbrella strong enough to shield me from that blast.

I know better.

And I know that sometimes life is like a race.

Where you find yourself prepared to sprint to the finish line.

Except sometimes it’s not until the starting gun sounds that you realize you’ve tied your shoelaces together

And you’re running into a nose dive.

Well, I’ve learned something from that too.

You see, when else but when your arms are outstretched to catch a fall are you able to fully embrace life?

Bruises and all.

And I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to take a minute and breathe in the moment.

Because how do you know how much air you will need to breathe to take the plunge into that icy sea called life?

When I was a kid, I was told that it took both rain and sunlight to make a rainbow.

And while I know they were talking about the weather,

True beauty is born of both as well.

Mom, I Forgot My Life Jacket

Mom, I forgot my life jacket.

I know you were probably waving it out the door, calling after me in my haste to leave.

I’m sorry. I probably ignored you.

Now I’m up to my neck in my own troubles, adrift in a life I thought I could control.

Remember it raining when I was three? I held out my hands to catch the raindrops, only to watch them slip through my fingers. My tears soon followed.

That was the day you took a red bucket and scooped up the rain. You gave it to me and told me not to spill it.

But of course I did.

When I was five and fell off my bicycle, I thought the world was going to end.

But that was when I was five and Band-Aids and kisses could make everything better.

The world never ended of course. It just kept going.

Remember when I was eight and you tried to explain the multiplication table to me? You said it was easy.

Well, I didn’t know it then but things do multiply easily. They tend to get out of control.

But Mom, I’ve never forgotten that five times six equals thirty. And as I’m quietly repeating those lessons to myself, I’m thanking God that you are never more than a phone number away.

How can I forget twelve? I thought I was so grown up then. You always seemed so quick to tell me otherwise. I suppose, now, that you were right. Thanks for always cleaning up my messes anyway.

Skip a few years and I’m fifteen. That was when I thought a kiss would make everything better. So I followed what I thought was love. And still it was you who were always ready to patch a wounded heart.

But now I’m eighteen.

I’m trying to navigate things by myself now. And I keep knocking over that red bucket as I try to get away from the messes I’ve left behind so that the floor is flooded with more than my tears and I feel like I’m drowning.

And I’m thinking about that life jacket.

I’m wondering now if I should pick up the phone and tell you this myself.

But if I do I’ll probably just say everything is fine and that will be that.

So I’m writing this instead.

See Mom, what I’m trying to say is this:

Because now I’m trying to catch the sunlight.

I’m bottling up the smiles and love you’ve always had for me.

Love,

Your little girl 

Masquerade

She’s walking down the town’s main street. Not on the side walk, but in  the middle of the street, hands out, balancing on the solid white line that keeps opposing traffic in its proper place.

Alone in her own world.

The sound of her feet skipping as she progresses down the road is made louder by the emptiness of the usually bustling town centre.  In fact, it echoes to me still as I gaze at the photograph taken of myself when I was all but ten years of age. Carefree is what it whispers to me, but I no longer know the meaning of that word.

I’ve been told that discovery is all about the journey. So maybe that’s why I find myself back at my childhood home, trying to recreate the portrait of my then care-free existence.  At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. The more truthful reason, whether I like to admit it or not, is that I am escaping from the looks of forced sympathy and words of advice from people who think they have wisdom about my “situation.”

And to be honest, there wasn’t anything altogether wise about telling my boss I would be leaving my job “indefinitely”, taking all my savings and packing off to a place to which I have not been in decades. Though even then, despite all my efforts to stop caring and forcing myself to take things a day at a time, peace still eludes me.

I guess in a way I am once more alone in my own world. I choose solitude now, prize it above rubies. Memories of the looks I have received from friends and co-workers over the past few months follow me still. Their eyes were like fish-hooks, willing the tears from my eyes, each one wanting for themselves the pride of being the shoulder I would cry on. But I never gave anyone that satisfaction.

Today I find myself on the very same street of the distant photograph. It is once again unnaturally still – most of the town’s inhabitants having taken off as I had so many years ago.  I see the street differently now, I realise. The stores that line it no longer hold for me the alluring sense of mystery that delighted my childhood eyes. Each one stands tall and proud, their brightly-painted faces give off a false sense of self-righteousness. For behind their painted facades hang dusty shelves of material desires – insubstantial objects that feed the whims and careless fancies of passing times – filling up the shells of each edifice.  

By now my thoughts have carried me to the end of the street. For some weird reason I can’t quite explain, I find I am not able to face the stores any longer. I decide to end my stroll early, so I turn my back on the empty street and start trudging uphill. It only takes a few moments before I find myself blinking.

Maybe it’s just the wind, but there are tears in my eyes. 

Fragments

I think everyone has this deep-seeded fear of falling to pieces, as if by letting go we lose control of everything we have worked for. I also believe that many of the things we clench so tightly only hinder our abilities to move on in life. This terror of tumbling apart can be paralyzing at times. But what we must do is drop these pieces. For it is only through letting go of the shards of a past life that the mold into which we have tried to fit will shatter and we can be reformed. In fact, you may find that the pieces will “fall” together as if they were guided by unseen hands.

I've discovered it to be like this: If you've never experienced the process of picking up the pieces, you’ll never know the joy of being found. 

Never Alone

I think we often trap ourselves into believing that we are alone. We want to solve our problems by ourselves because we think it will make us “strong” and “independent”.  Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but it can get pretty lonely in this mindset. It’s as if we’re trying to leave our pit of despair by constructing a staircase out of wayward pebbles while waving away the rope someone is dangling in front of our faces. Needless to say, this has the potential to become a futile effort.

Look at it this way, it takes real strength to grab onto that rope and hold on for the whole climb. And true freedom comes in knowing we are never alone.

Diving Deep

Have you ever felt like you are trying to keep everyone else afloat while you yourself are drowning but nobody notices? How often are we paralyzed by the  fear of the next overwhelming wave that is coming, believing that it will be the one that finally consumes us? I know that I have found myself in this mindset at times and it shames me to admit it; for such thoughts only impede us and make things as simple as breathing an impossibility. But struggling on the surface isn't truly living.

Sometimes in order to stop drowning in life, you need to let go and dive deep within it.

Following Your Senses

What gets you further in life: common sense or a sense of adventure?

This is the type of question that sends me running around in circles within my mind. (Actually, I’m usually pacing a room muttering to myself, but that’s just weird.) Some may say that common sense only holds you back and prevents you from trying new and exciting things; that only with a sense of adventure will one stumble upon discovery. So while a sense of adventure might compel you to BASE jump off a cliff, common sense may keep your feet from going over the edge. But what discoveries lie in wait on an alternate route down? Maybe the real fear we need to overcome is that of turning back.

A sense of adventure will take you to all ends of the Earth, but common sense will keep you alive throughout the journey, and possibly even slow you down just enough to enjoy the sights along the way. So perhaps it is not one or the other: In order to live life to the fullest, maybe you need a little of both.

Learning to Sing

Sometimes I wonder why I think that waking up at 5:30 in the morning will somehow help me be more prepared for the day. As if any amount of worrying I can fit into the hour before I get up will benefit me in any way. Today, as I’m about to embark on something new, I'm asking myself similar questions. But I believe that it’s moments like these where it’s normal to stop and ask myself what I’m getting into. Or at least that’s where I found myself a few minutes ago.

“Oh my gosh, Emma. What are you doing?”

And I looked back on all the times that thought had crossed my mind. Some of those answers I’m not really proud of, other instances I wish I’d stopped a second to question further. But I’ve already lived those regrets.

So I ask myself another question. If that last part of my life, with all its mistakes, regrets, memories, and accomplishments, was finding my voice; where am I now? Where do I find myself at this start of something new, with the million little thoughts running through my mind, hands shaking, eyes looking ahead, brain always questioning, ears always listening? As I take this all in, I think I feel more than hear the answer: In this moment of doubt and worry and weakness, that’s where the next part begins. And that is where I am at this moment: quavering and uncertain, but learning to sing.

The Normal Conundrum

I hate the word “normal”.  It can’t be defined and I think we just waste our time trying to reach its elusive and treacherous ideal. The desire to be ordinary is perhaps one of humanity’s greatest puzzles. And maybe “fitting” the pieces together isn’t the way to solve it.

Normal is what we think everyone else thinks is normal; there is no static definition of the word and, for that reason, it is an unattainable standard to wish to achieve. But we all strive for a sense of normalcy and, unfortunately, use it as a driving force in our lives. In our race to be like “everybody else”, we leave our true selves trampled behind us. It seems impossible to break free of this mindset because society impresses upon everyone at an early age a desire to please others at all cost. It’s as if we have been set up for failure.

In the end, we either have to assimilate and be like what we believe everyone else to be or find contentment in breaking apart and staying true to ourselves. The latter is not easy because we feel pressured by the world to merge with everyone else. However, theoretically speaking, if we truly accept ourselves for who we are, than the acceptance of everyone else shouldn’t matter at all. I don’t know of this is any more possible than reaching “normal’, but at least it’s a constructive concept for which to strive.

Building Walls

Too many people waste their time trying to be someone else. I wonder how many times we have walked into a room of pasted smiles and false laughter; where we find ourselves as mere spectres going about life, each ignorant in our own isolation. Somehow, we feel better when we are busy constructing barriers; thinking we are protecting ourselves by keeping others from catching a glimpse of the real person within. But problems arise from this self-deception.  Not expressing one’s true feelings only results in anger and resentment. Moreover, hiding our true selves is an exhausting undertaking and never really gives a sense of security.

As proven throughout history, walls are seldom able to maintain their purpose indefinitely. The Berlin Wall fell, the Great Wall of China, a symbol of power, still gave way to the Mongols and other invaders. In the same way, we build walls of false images and spend all our energy trying to sustain them. It is a fruitless effort for, in doing so, we miss out on much and forget what’s important; like loving others or having loyal friends and supportive families.

This begs the question of who are we really afraid of? For the walls will eventually fall and then with whom are we left? Surely not those we have blocked out.

These mental strongholds: We try to hide behind them but all we succeed in achieving is hiding from ourselves. For the real threat comes from within and no matter how many outer defenses we mount, they won’t shield us from the true person inside. And peace will only come through acceptance.

Saving Superman

-A short story-

My best memories of childhood always began with a hunt through the linen closet. I would be looking each time for the indispensable superhero necessities: a rag to fashion a cape- an old towel would do perfectly- and a strip of cloth for a mask. A few tucks here, a little adjusting there, a poor attempt at forming a knot and, voila, I became a caped hero, defending the world from the masked marauders of the night.

There was always that anticipation of dressing up, that delicious feeling of being someone else for a short period of time, where my reality would slip away and I could escape from the confines of my small, childhood world. In those fantasy-filled moments, I fully believed I had become one of them and that by defeating my imaginary villains, I was somehow protecting the world from the horrors that plagued it. As if by simply wearing a cape, I could take the burdens of the world upon my childish frame.

But I was young and my sheltered eyes had seen little of those horrors; my imagination unable to truly construct what held the world in bondage. My war was of a fun sort, where the good guys always won and vengeance always dealt without fail. When I look back upon that period of my existence, it is easy to laugh at the ignorance of my childhood innocence. Because to me then, the world was of a monochrome nature; where right and wrong were divided as clearly as day and night. Not at all like the hazy twilight where I find myself pondering such beliefs, now so many years in the future.

And what is it that I believe now? For the difference between adults and children is that we see the world through a different lens, so that we often reject what is right before our eyes: the pure, the innocent, all that is simple and good is lost in the shadows of cynicism. It is our inability to clearly distinguish the difference between night and day that sends us to the stumbling block of nations. Maybe if, for a moment, every leader of every country were to lower himself to the eye level of a five-year-old, the world would be a better place. But these are most likely the mad ramblings of a delusional dreamer.

So is that why today I once again yearn to see things through the over-simplified worldview of youth? It’s morning once more and I’m looking out the window. I hear laughter and soon see a boy appear from behind the house across the street. He is wearing a mask, his eyes peering out from its exaggerated features. I’m trying to discern whose face he is hiding behind, almost frantically now because I think I already know. He is running and jumping, twirling and bouncing through the sun-dappled morning. And suddenly- might it be because of the angle of the sun?- I can see it clearly. For here I am, in a cape once more, but trying to save superman.

Inner Beasts

In everyone there is a beast trying to get out.

Like poison;

Paralyzing inner spirit,

it attacks: A roaring, clawing manticore,

composed of lies and anger and pain.

I tried to tame it by myself.

But the only one I was fooling was me.

Sunny with a CHANCE of Rain (Or Why I Shouldn't Worry)

Some days the weatherman should look out the window. That’s what many of us may say to ourselves on the mornings when we hear their chipper voices advise that we might want to bring out an umbrella if we plan to venture forth, only to peer through the curtains and be greeted with a bright, cloudless day. Sometimes it seems they get it wrong more often than right. How many times have we been promised a big snow storm, dreaming of a snow day, and then wake up the next morning to a pitiful dusting of flurries? Or have a perfect beach day, all planned ahead of time, be ruined by a torrential downpour? But I would never blame a meteorologist. You can study data and make predictions for all you’re worth but it never guarantees a perfect forecast. It’s just a fact of life.

 I think many people’s biggest problem, myself included, is that we try too hard to see what’s ahead. We want some assurance that we’ll be prepared for what’s to come.  That’s why we worry and try to plan for the unknown. But it would never do to carry our “umbrellas” with us everywhere we go. Trying to predict what happens next only holds us back and weighs us down. It clouds our vision so to speak. If we are too intent on figuring out the forecast for our own life, we miss the beautiful day that is right in front of us.

A Matter of Perspective

When one thinks of Earth’s surface, with its jagged mountains, deep valleys, rifts, and canyons, the word ‘smooth’ hardly comes to mind. Instead, one might find "rugged and imperfect" as a more fitting description. And yet, the surface of planet Earth is proportionally smoother than a billiard ball.1 Surprising is it not? It just depends on your perspective.

Now apply the same perspective to life. Suddenly, all the things that we think define us, such as marks, talents, wealth, appearance, and popularity, matter little in proportion to the grand scheme of things. Once more, it all depends on how you look at it. For if the surface of Earth, with all its imperfections, can be viewed by our limited vision as a perfect, even sphere, how then are we viewed, with all our imperfections, through the eyes of the One whose perspective is infinite?

1 http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/badastronomy/2008/09/08/ten-things-you-dont-know-about-the-earth/#.WY_cqFF97IU

Wishes upon Hardened Sand

Today the beach offered one of Life’s great mysteries. What if we could write the burdens of our hearts upon the sand and watch the waves wash them away? Would we then be satisfied? Or would they just be buried, waiting to be rediscovered? Regrets, half-debts and unrealized dreams:  sometimes they seem to number more than the grains that make up the ocean’s shore. I’d gouge the words into the packed, damp granules, digging them deep. It would be a never-ending task, one that would threaten to consume us like any hope etched on windswept landscapes. For here we are, chasing illusive breakers, hoping to quench humanity’s thirst for redemption. And how many people are just sitting, waiting for the waves to roll in?

But true peace is found in still waters.  

Climbing

In 1963, two American mountain climbers, Wili Unsoeld and Tom Hornbein, achieved fame, and more importantly respect, by being the first mountaineers to ever traverse a Himalayan peak. They did so on Mount Everest, the highest of them all. This year, two other men, Conrad Anker and Cory Richards, are attempting to repeat this feat. While I believe anyone who takes on Everest deserves to be noted, these two adventurers are going above and beyond (no pun intended) by attempting the West Ridge route- the most dangerous path up the infamous mountain where the probability of dying is the same as summiting.

I was reading about this in the National Geographic and it got me to thinking. All four of these climbers have purposely taken the toughest route. How often in life do we try the easiest? For everyone has their own mountain to climb. Some are mere slopes; others seem to keep growing forever.  And while there are people who can clamber over their mountains pretty quickly, many will spend their whole lives climbing. But it is better than falling.

Even the stars...

Some people are free flying, tumbling head-over-heels through life from one insubstantial thing to the next.  Others dig a little deeper and hold on, becoming more firmly rooted. Put your faith in something constant and long-lasting. Anything less is like trying to navigate a ship by the position of the clouds. But even the stars only last for billions of years.

Learning to Ride

It is often the little accomplishments one makes early during their life journey that become the most meaningful later on. Like little gems of wisdom, we lock those certain moments up and hide the treasure chest away until we have time to better ponder them.

I learned to bike when I was six. During this time I became more acquainted with the ground than I would have liked. But I kept at it that whole summer. It was a constant cycle of climbing on, balancing for a second and then down I would go. For me, taking off my training wheels was a microcosm for the whole process of growing up (and I suppose the lifelong learning that follows). You see, no one learns to fall; it is embedded in our very nature. Climbing is easy enough too. It’s the balancing that is difficult, especially when the road gets bumpy.

Look at it this way: The best thing you can do for yourself is to learn to not be ashamed of falling; just keep climbing back up. Success will come eventually. And the people on the sides of the street will cheer you on.

See you on the sidelines. J