"50 Ways to Leave Your Lover"

"You just slip out the back, Jack
Make a new plan, Stan
You don't need to be coy, Roy
Just get yourself free
Hop on the bus, Gus
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free"

If Paul Simon is the authority on how to leave your lover, (though he makes it sound far to easy in my opinion) I surely am becoming the authority in how to get over your lover.

My usual routine mimics everyone else's - skip work, loads of Hagen Das, bad chic-flicks and plenty of wallowing. But in the absence of a TV(since my roommate moved her stuff out), having already done months of wallowing at the bottom of ice-cream pails on account of my inter-continental move, I was forced to find a new strategy.

Suprisingly, this one works way better. Featuring many of the usual ingredients like plenty of writing, distressed phone calls to close friends, and coffee, this get-on-and-get-with-it strategy is actually one that I have deployed many times before. Essentially it waters down to this : MOVE.

Literally.

When my stunning fire-fighter lover couldn't commit to the lable of boyfriend or move forward in our relationship, I picked myself up and marched over to the home of my family firends and moved their entire apartment to North Vancouver.

When my tall, dark and handsome artist boyfriend cheated on me, I packed my bags and moved across the country (not because of him, but the timing just worked).

And now, when my heart again lies in splinters after yet another (green-eyed artistic cafe-fashion loving) partner, again I am moving.

There is something very metaphorical about packing boxes, purging and letting go and building hopes for a new home in a time when your heart is desperately trying to mend.

I pack a box, expecting my books all to fit and then find that there are awkward spaces I cannot fill, that somethings do not stack or fit together in a way that allows me to just package up my belongings in a way that make sense. I am left with a miscellaneous box filled of random odds and ends. As my frustration wanes, I smirk at the thought of how my belongings mimic my logic, how my questions and conclusions cannot encompass my experiences and leave them neatly packed away. How I am still after all these years left with one space in my heart full of miscellaneous memories, unanswered questions, unfounded conclusions, preposterous hope, stagnant resentment and lingering, unwanted pain.

I pick up a project, in need of bookshelves I decide to salvage furniture left for dead in my backyard. As I stalk my apartment in frustration after discovering that my friends, indeed, are taking sides, I grab the sanding block and purge. My frustrations fly like the dust from beneath the block remaining on the floor in a pile at my feet until my muscles are sore and the burn of my anger has subsided to mere ash, mere wood-dust. Picking up a paintbrush, I soothe the wood back to life with layers of stain and varnish and realize something in me too has been peeled, exfoliated away, soothed and re-furbished.

And then there is the hope, the dream. A new place, a new neighborhood, a new life. Its as if a pristine blank canvas of opportunity suddenly presents itself. In recognition of the opportunity come strokes of inspiration, not only to rescue discarded furniture, re-organize, finish old projects and start new ones but inspiration to make the right decisions. Its a fresh start, like fresh sheets, the first sunny days of spring, a vacation or the smell of lilacs. And somehow, allowing the hurt and injury of the past to infiltrate all that is about to arrive seems terribly wasteful and disrespectful. Moving always pushes me to make clean breaks, to push myself to seeking new opportunities and finding new ways to embrace all the positive things that come with change.

So here I go, packing, re-finishing and goal setting away. My move is on Saturday, expect some great photos to come!!

<3

B

To the new...(an update)

They say that the darkest hour is right before dawn, never till now did I believe them.

I came home today to an empty apartment. Void of my roommates belongings, the clicking of my heels bounced off the walls, ceiling, cupboards, into my chest, bouncing from my heart, to spine, to lungs until - short of breath- I took a seat.

I would have predicted that the feeling that took me from feet to seat would have been anxiety, but I was pleasantly surprised when I discovered -after a quick check-list- that it was just a mix of nostalgia and excitement.

There was something about that moment that pulled me back...

My plane landed at 5:54am, and I waited for my over-sized luggage to arrive at the carousel. In my weariness, I misplaced my camera and lost my mind. It took a year to re-gain it.

The cab took me straight to an apartment that I had arranged through a friend, who by conventional definitions was an acquaintance. I didn't know the city, I didn't know the girl who I was about to spend a year with, and I had no idea what the future would hold, only that this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Lugging all my possessions in a large suitcase and an assortment of bags, I settled down on to a futon my new roommate had spread for me in lieu of a bed. I fell into a nervous sleep.

Moving is hard to do. Some say that it is right up there with death and divorce. I have not experienced either of the later, but I must say that this move has been the most challenging thing I have ever done. But, I have written about that before.

It has taken me a full year to feel like I belong here, to have 'Toronto' leave my lips and feel that somehow we are linked. Maybe this new found connection is because I have endured my first TO heartbreak, perhaps it is something about the cycle of 365 days, 52 weeks,that innately makes us feel like we have come full circle. Or maybe I have endured enough changes, enough cycles, enough highs and lows (and oh boy were they low) to connect to the stability of concrete beneath my feet.

I went through phases: I baked 2 peach cobblers a week, then came the chocolate chip cookies, there was the lamb sausage pasta, the bags of Sour Cream and Onion Ruffles, the coconut sorbet, the Lindt milk chocolate with hazlenuts and finally the lattes and croissants. I watched more TV and was less active in the last year than I have been in my life cumulatively. It was good, but it was a little much (an extra 15 pounds on the scale little much).

I can say that I gained friends and lost them, gained love and then lost it, though they say that true friends or love cannot be lost, so either time will show differently or they weren't real to begin with.

So here I sit, my belongings scattered - piece-meal identity- across the apartment. And I am ready for the new.

I am moving from the dark, affectionatly named 'bunker', that has been my hideout (literaly) to a new place, across the street and next door to a park and right on the border of Toronto's Little Italy, where the Italian men walk around saying, "Bonjourno," as if it were the streets of Florence.

My year here has been one of hibernation, adjustment, where finding comfort was paramount. I was blessed, by the resources, the people (God...please bless my roommate), the coffee shops, strangers who became friends, teachers (in all shapes and forms) who made finding comfort possible. But I am now ready for inspiration...

I don't have much,

a bed
dresser (full of fabulous acquisitions)
a desk
6 great hats
3 pots1
1 pan
1 kitchen table
1 love seat
3 pieces of luggage
7 types of tea
1 bag of coffee from Portland
a grater
6 glasses
4 cups
1 nutmeg grater (that I thought was a lemon zester)
1 teapot
1 mug
lucky bamboo
a gargoyle to ward off bad spirits
a 10lb rock I've carried since I was 10

and an assortment of other fabulous, sparkly, feathered things.

With this I intend to build a home. Full of inspiration and DIY ideas, I intend to keep you all posted on my process and finally make good on all the promises I whispered to myself during the cold and sleepless nights I have finally made it through.

The darkest has passed, the dawn is just beginning....

join me on the journey.




-

A shopping tale....

One of the many blessings here has been that my Vancouverite friend and colleague David has also moved to Toronto. Too add to it, his equally fabulously gay friend Calvin has flown out to Toronto to visit. So I joined them for my first visit to the Kensington Market.

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Word of advice: NEVER shop with gay men.

Not only are they the most convincing judges of potential purchases, they have an unequivocal talent at getting you to buy something.

A large reason for the purchase of my first MuiMuis was due to a gay salesman. This guy managed to compliment just how good the shoes looked, convince me that it was a smart purchase because the shoes were "timeless" and "every girl needs a pair of classy black heels" all the while talking to me as if I was most stupid woman alive for not buying them that instant. It was one of the most impressive guilt trips of my life, complete with 360 degree eye rolls punctuated by disgusted grunts. This guy made me feel so bad about myself that I actually bought the shoes.

Only a gay man (and perhaps the most passive aggressive of divas) can multitask attitudes with such talent.

So, fast-forward to Friday afternoon: I am in Kensington Market with David and Calvin, and Calvin keeps buzzing in my ear, "This is Kensington Market, and we're shopping you have to buy SOMETHING." The comments flood my ear without stop, I'd pick up the smallest of trinkets, and there he would be "...buy SOMETHING", a pair of ridiculous glasses "...buy SOMETHING", a fur jacket "...buy SOMETHING" a lamp, "...buy SOMETHING."

It got to a point where my inner shopaholic (who has been on a shopping diet) just...couldn't...take...it...ANYMORE!! So at last, one fabulous see-through boho blouse later (purchased for a steal! $18 at a vintage store), Calvin finally shut up.

But it was upon getting home that I realized the next gay-shopping truth: their advice is priceless. Not only is that blouse oh-so-wonderful on its own, now a myriad of skirts which were previously matchless now have their prefect lacy-boho mate . Much in the same way my MuiMuis opened a plethora of fashion possibilities, my new blouse opens fashion doors that were previously in-accessible.

In conclusion, while gay men may be toxic to my bank account, it seems that my wardrobe could always use a little of their influence.

Lets talk about it...

because its pretty much confirmed.

My camera is gone.

Some where between leaving Vancouver and arriving in Toronto my camera went missing. And I have gone over it every last detail... called every venue at which it may have been left, but so far no avail. It seems I have exhausted all avenues, and my Nikon, my dear darling D40 has left me for good.

And so my heart aches.

I walk around in this new place, and involuntarily compose photographs. I see a chinese man with long whiskers selling lychee on Spadina and think of how I would crouch down low and zoom in to capture the hunch of his backbone. I parade down the streets dancing behind samba bands in school pride parades and I dream of running, as other fellow students, around the event, up on benches, on flatbeds of trucks take pictures from high and low to immortalize my first Frosh week.

But I can't, all I can do is crave to feel the snap of a shutter, and the thrill of a capture. All I can do is miss my camera, left behind, like the rest of my life.

5:55

My eyes tore open and adjusted to the dim light. The emerald blue sky outside denoted that the hours had sunk far into evening. I lay immobile for decades of seconds, the stiffness of dehydration had flooded my joints and masterfully engineered a deep throbbing between my temples . This alone made the ascent from the floor agonizing....'What time is it?' I muttered to myself, before glimpsing the alarm clock planted at my feet. '5:55' it blurted in rhythmic flashes, the symmetry of the hour mocking my disheveled condition.

Shaking my head I attempted to make sense of the past couple of hours, 'or was it minutes?' I caught myself mid thought. It all seemed so unfeasible and yet all the while so real. I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to travel back to the warmth of the summer night...

Desiring fresh air, I left the amber glow of midsummer festivities and stepped out onto the dimly lit balcony. My shoes created a rhythmic clicking on the concrete balcony, while my black dress moved slightly in the warm evening breeze. With a glass of champagne in my hand I leaned against the ivy clad raining to admire the sight before me. The penthouse suite offered an unparalleled view of the city, skyscrapers littered the skyline, glittering like diamonds with spectrums of light that shone from within. But tonight it was not the city that took my breath away, but the sky that hung above.

Not a single cloud hung in the bronze sky. What I had always known to be a black or blue heaven at such a late hour , now displayed magnificent sepia tones. Rich and deep brown melted into blood red, rose quartz pink, to light amber and then beige. The sky was lit with more stars than I had seen on the darkest of nights far from the obtrusive lights of the city. It was as if a nebula from the farthest reaches of the galaxy had made its way to neighbor our blue and green planet lending its gas, plasma and dust to provide a night time spectacular unlike that which I had ever seen.

Momentarily, I looked back to the warmth of the party continuing on behind me and smiled at the moment's perfection. Turning back to the perfect sky, my breath stopped, in slow motion my glass slipped from fingers, danced with gravity as it fell before shattering into hundreds of peices on the concrete some three stories below. I could not believe my eyes, this surely could not be. I ran... back through the party, out the apartment down the swirling staircase, out of the doors to the street below. I couldn't understand. It did not make sense, no force of nature, no force of man could create the scene that was playing before my eyes. I fell to the corner of the sidewalk with my eyes glued to the sky. An intuitive knowledge rose from within, and I knew that this was not no show, no figment of my imagination but true and real events unfolding in the most impossible of circumstances.

They had hung the Golden Gate Bridge in the sky. Hundreds of clouds colored in the same sepia tones as the night sky composed its grandeur. The clouds hung together like the interconnected tissues of magnified marrow. The strength of one of the worlds greatest architectural wonders was made known simply by its colossal size and impeccable symmetry as it floated nearer and nearer. Soon it took up more than half of the heavens, before silently and abruptly, it stopped. Though its position ceased to grow nearer, the scene continued to move in a now different and unfathomable way.

Slowly the clouds began to break away, falling away like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle turned to an angle not suited to the laws set by gravity's dictatorship. Had I been able to utter words I would have alerted all those inside, but due to the sheer impossibility of what was happening I could spare none. With my mouth gaping open, I watched as bit by bit the bridge fell to shambles. It was what happened next that silenced more than my voice, but the onslaught of loud thoughts as my mind struggled to make sense of it all.

With the clouds falling faster and faster, it became clear that the bridge would soon cease to retain a perceptible form. As the final grouping of clouds fell away, the air trembled and the sky exploded. Thousands of black birds projected through the hole in the sky where the bridge had once stood. I followed as the massive flock of black silhouettes dis burst across the sky. And then my eyes fell upon them..... the Empire State, The Pyramids and several other architectural marvels of the world were suspended in the heavens above. Piece by piece they too began to fall apart.

Crowds of pedestrians had begun to form through the streets, all pointing, all waiting in horror as their minds slowly began to conceive of the horror of dissipating reality. The clouds forming buildings and monuments began falling apart quicker and quicker, soon a cannon of black bird explosions was beginning to fill the sky. Soundlessly they soured as the sky's darkness increased, soon very little of the night's sky was visible. Black engulfed every single corner of the sky. It seemed to me that the world had never been so still, had never been so silent, paralysis had infiltrated all living things, no a soul had the courage to breath or blink. Motionless fear slowly began filling the spirits of all and a shallow murmur gave way to terrified screams as blackness began to descend upon the earth. I stood still as frantic crowds began to dash through the streets. I observed in petrified horror as the buildings around me began to slowly fall apart soon become un-recognizable. Intuitively I knew what was to happen next. As I closed my eyes, I began to feel the soft caress of wings, opening them again I found myself surrounded in darkness. Now I knew...this was the end.

I fell through space, through time, and was born to this floor, this time 5:55. Stiff and sore I lie surrounded by black.... with no past, no present, no future. No hope.

Suzanne's Message...

The heat and discomfort of my condition left me fleeing the yoga room in an angry frenzy. With my mind spinning, I fell into a white leather couch in the marble lobby of the Yoga college. I could have chosen to venture outside and soak in the warm California sun, but the soft body of the couch held my body just right and the warm breeze flowing past the glass doors soothed my mind. I sat, breathing deeply, trying to dissipate the subsequent dizziness of deciding what the information, pain, ridiculous amount of yoga really meant to me. I planned on spending the few hours relaxing in that very spot, soaking in my silence and stillness...

But then, I caught a scent, a perfume so sweet I had to know what it was so that I could have it for myself. Surely, it was not one of my fellow trainees; hygiene had become as basic as possible in order to conserve energy, and cut down time spent in the washroom shared by some 180 exasperated yoginis. No, it was not one of the women I sweat alongside with day in and day out, it was the colourful woman who sat next to me.

She turned to Rachel and I and asked with wide eyes " How is training going?" we answered with slight enthusiasm, our answers not nearly as in depth as she obviously desired. Unsatisfied with our run of the mill, "Oh its going really well, hard, but really good," she continued to ask question after question. At some point I found the annoyance of having my peace robbed by an inquiring stranger dissipate. In its place grew a fascination with the things she was telling me. We began with sharing basic facts about ourselves, our backgrounds and our practices.

Her name was Suzanne, a jewelry designer and practitioner of 5 years, she had recently made LA her home after moving from New York. Soon our conversation began to journey down many different paths, exploring a variety of topics. Two of those paths we traveled, left their sights so deeply ingrained in my mind that I feel an absolute necessity to share them.

" Fear," I said, "I've always had a negative relationship with the emotion, if you can call it that. But I am beginning to feel that even fear has its purpose. Fear somewhat serves to give us some sort of guidance, to keep us in check."

"I understand your point," she said, "and I could even argue it. But I've come to understand something different about fear. I truly feel that there it has no productivity. That decisions should rather be made based on knowledge and not fear. '
' For example, imagine I was in Hawaii, standing alone on a beach late at night. And, imagine that there is nothing that I would rather do than take a swim. Taking into consideration that there is a rocky shore, and as the tide comes in the swells are huge with the dark making things hard to see, swimming is really, not such a good idea. But, if I were to make that decision based on fear, I do nothing but demean myself. I debilitated by being in a position where I feel I cannot do something.
'If, however, I can look out at the waves understand their purpose and my purpose; and realize, that at that time of night, on the rocky shores as the tide comes in our purposes have nothing to do with each other. I can then make my decision not to swim based on knowledge, empowering myself rather than choosing to cower in fear. This way I know that I am capable of swimming, but it results in consequences I would not gladly endure. In this situation fear and knowledge lead to the same conclusions, but choosing to be fearful only made me weak, where knowledge gave me power."

Our conversation continued to grow, and take many twists and turns until our discussion arrived at the intersection of..

"Insecurity?" Though it was one word, I said it knowing she would understand I sought to know what she had to say.
"No need for it." Suzanne began, "There is a realization we all must make in our time here. There has never been a person like you that has walked this earth, and there will never be another like you again. This in itself, the very fact you exist, is a gift! You are an individual and a miracle, and being given the privilege of existence it is you DUTY to live to your best potential. There is no use looking around seeing what so-and-so is doing in hopes that you can be him or her, because you can never be that person. You can only be you, and to be the best you is the most beautiful and powerful achievement. '
'Not only is it important to realize this about ourselves, but its important to realize this about others as well. Its too easy to look at others and put ourselves on a pedestal. I am a jewelry designer, but that makes me no better than the guy who drives the garbage truck down the road. I don't look at him feeling sorry and say 'Gee, I'm glad that's not my job,' I NEED him! He NEEDS me! All of us are dependent on each other, and no one is better than the other, we all have our own role to play.
'When put in the context of insecurity, attempting to play someone else's role in life, by putting ourselves down, by seeking to be like someone else, doesn't contribute to the greater picture: the interplay between us all. It simply robs us of another brilliant person strong in their individuality. Be yourself, be proud; don't try to fit into a mold you do not fit into, because the only mold that fits is, in fact, your own."

The words that Suzanne left me within the hour and half we spent talking on the couch, have continued to touch me and change the way I view and conduct myself in my day to day situations. I strive to always remember that we all have our path, beauty and purpose, and in understanding and appreciating this in others and our environment, we can all live a life rich with knowledge and power, free of fear and inhibition.