My Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

I have one wish this Christmas.   
Just one little thing I would love more than anything.  

Could you please just bring me some more time?

Just a little more time to spend with the people I love and a little less time racing around like a lunatic - buying and wrapping gifts, cleaning the house like the Queen of England is coming to visit, and buying enough groceries and booze that you would think the Prohibition starts Friday. 

Just some time to shift the balance.

Time with my friends.
Time with my family.

I honestly don't need any more "stuff".
Isn't it really just white noise anyways?
I mean, somehow we manage to function all year with what we have, yet at Christmas there are lists of things that seem to circulate as our needs that we were perfectly fine without until December.

This month is such a test of character.
The days are too short.
There is more darkness than light.
It is cold and icy and the house fights to keep warm.
The expectations are unrealistic.
There are multiple commitments, professionally and personally, that overlap day by day and hour by hour.
We are stretched to the limit balancing scheduling commitments and celebrations to a fault.

I stand back and watch the fights through the line ups at the mall, searching for the last known inventory of an item we most likely do not need.
I feel the pressure and stress of finding the right gift and have I spent too much money or not enough?
I watch the chaos of observing others outdoing and one up'ing each other, trying to increase their perception of nothing more than their own self worth.
If you stand back and look at it all, it is completely insane.

There are people who are spending their first Christmas alone trying to find their way.
Many who have lost a loved one and are spending their Christmas missing a parent, Grandparent, close friend or child and their Christmases are forever changed by that loss.
There are homeless people in the world without the good fortune of one present or a warm meal.

And as I stand in line at 9am 5 days before Christmas, waiting to pay for more gift tags and string that must match my plaid gift wrap in perfect harmony, I look around at the mayhem and realize how important it is to stay in check of what the holidays are truly all about.  To breathe in gratitude for what we do have and spend our time in the right places and on the right things.

My dear Santa, send some peace down and sprinkle it on everyone you can see because I swear this week every year, the magic in Christmas gets so easily buried behind the gifts and inside the turkey.

The true magic of Christmas belongs to gifts of time and this week I just need a little bit more of it.

Love, 
Sarah

p.s.   And also a good Cab Sauv, new running shoes and anything from Lululemon...  

p.s.s.  Okay, so I guess that wasn't just one wish.   

p.s.s.s.  I was honestly just mentioning in case you need some ideas.

p.s.s.s.   Yes, I know.   You prefer scotch, not milk and cookies.  All over it.

#nofilter

As all 200 some odd people on Facebook are aware (and the other 500 connected to my friends tagged in the post), we had a dance party with kitchen utensils last night at 3am and clearly I was a little tipsy at best.  When I woke up this morning and saw the post, my first instinct was to delete the video as quickly as possible. Then I changed my mind and I decided it was staying.

Because here's the thing.   

I am who I am.  

I want to live my life with no filter to the people I let in.   

I write a blog and plaster my experiences in words and everyone knows what I'm up to.   

I post random thoughts and all my travels and have very post-y friends when it comes to our nights together.  

I used to take the time to scroll through my own wall and make sure it was truly reflective of the image I wanted to portray.  I used to obsess over what the haters would say if they were to read everything that was on my Facebook feed.   I used to go in and delete things after the fact and manage the message of how I was being represented.   

Recently I've just stopped.   
I have given up.

Anyone who is judge-y or uninterested has a choice if they wish to unfollow me.   I'm tired of presenting the image of what I think everyone wants to see.  I have spent most of my life trying to be what I thought everyone wanted me to be and I'm exhausted from years of wasted energy worrying about everyone else's perception.  

Of course back then I knew how ridiculous and taxing this thinking was but I just had no idea how to rewire my brain to think differently.  I lived my life in fear of letting people down or not being viewed positively.  And to be honest, I really don't know what's different this year.  I guess there are some moments that have forever changed me and brought me closer to the person I was meant to become and allowed me to embrace my individuality.  For whatever reason and timing, I have decided I have had enough of filtering the messages. 

So I don't use Snapchat filters on my photos and every laugh line is likely to show around my eyes.   (Some people call these wrinkles but I truly know they are from having a good time).   I'm not going to pretend I look like I'm 25 and I have no plans for Botox or injections, although I'm not going to lie, I will attend a spa at every opportunity and I will forever be some dyed shade of blonde.  I go to the grocery store with my hair in a ponytail and no makeup even though "you never know who you could run into" and I've been called crazy more times than I could count.

I am who I am and yes, I thoroughly enjoy a good dance party at 3am.  My general rule of thumb is that nothing good happens after midnight but hey every now and then, I can shock us all and stay awake long past my self prescribed curfew.  

I'm quite aware that people are scrolling through today saying all kinds of things like how embarrassed I should be, that they can't BELIEVE there would be a drunk video posted at 3am and what kind of message are we sending and how can I be swaying and have that public.   Yep, I see you.   I can hear all the negative chatter.  That's the same chatter I have fought in my mind for years hiding all my imperfections under the shell of what I display to the world.

You see, this is the reason I left myself unsearchable on Facebook.   You cannot find me unless you are a friend of a friend.   That means if I have let you into my little world, I am perfectly comfortable with you knowing I love a good glass of a Washington Cab or Cotes du Rhones and an air band to Whitney Houston with kitchen spoons.  

It is pretty unlikely that my employer will see my dance party pics although to be honest, none of them would be surprised and would likely ask where their invite was.  

I don't plan to apply for a new job anytime soon and be searched by HR who thinks "who is the nut job with the kitchen spoon?  We cannot hire her" - although if I do, hopefully they have a good sense of humor.  

At 42 years old, I finally think it's a compliment to be a bit bat sh*t crazy and not an insult.   

And most importantly.. I am totally aware that my life is an open book and shared for all to see and I'm actually okay with that.  It is my choice.

So to all of you who I amuse clogging up your news feed sporadically, I will leave you with this.  I am going to continue to document my life, unfiltered, in photos and stories, and without regret no matter what gets spilled on the pages.  

Because seriously, who doesn't need a good 3am dance party some days and there should be no shame in belting out "I will always love you" or "My Church".  

(Yes, God help me, there is a second video out there).  

  

The Pitcher Within The Picture

I always thought that those 3D Magic Eye picture books were so cool, except for one small problem.   I had no idea how to see the picture.   I mean, I even bought a book and had it on my coffee table for years and every now and then I picked it up and nope, still nothing, no clue.   Could not see the pictures.  I would literally squint or try and relax my eyes so that they were almost cross eyed, but I still couldn't see what they claimed held a picture-within-a-picture.  All I saw was the picture you-see-at-first-glance picture.  A bunch of scribbly lines in different colors that looked like abstract art well beyond my artistic comprehension.

                                                         **********

In sheer disbelief, I am jumping up and down, high five-ing Casey as it sinks in.   

I am getting on the plane to Texas.   

Even though this is the second time around traveling with the team for playoffs, I still had overwhelming fear and a parade of self destructive thoughts completely take over my brain. 

I am sure this outfit makes me look fat. No, actually I look frumpy. My hair is terrible. In fact, I think I have it in a pony tail.   I look like I'm going to the gym, not going on a plane will millionaire baseball wives.  I should've taken a MAC make up lesson. Ugh, why oh why, did I not take the time to buy some stilettos for the airport? Stilettos? Who am I kidding?  I would trip for sure. It isn't even possible for me to wear stilettos. I was built for Lululemon, not Jimmy Choo.  The wives have plane outfits.   You must be kidding me.   They seriously are changing into new outfits.   I am so out of my freaking element. Dear God, I hope there is a mall nearby.

This is all nicely reinforced, as you know, by Jose Bautista nicely pointing out at the airport that I had a water bottle in my backpack, like I'm some novice traveler who didn't know any better.

WAIT 

Did you hear that?

I had a back pack.   

A Mountain Warehouse purple backpack with my computer in it for work.   

No heels.   

No black dress for the plane.   

No Gucci bag.

A purple Mountain Warehouse backpack.

Yep.  That's me. 

Comfortably. Lacking. Elegance.

Even when it was all over, and we are bussed with a police escort service, literally from the park to the plane, I still have this backpack I'm carrying.  We get to walk up the steps all presidential-like. You know those Michelle Obama or Kate Middleton moments, where their hair is blowing in the wind, and they turn to wave at the crowd with their Chanel purse over the other arm?   Oh yeah, that is so what you want to do in this moment.  I want to princess wave at the crowd, with my purple backpack over my shoulder, giggling hysterically at how insane this is. 

Fortunately there is red wine on the plane.   

And I'm definitely going to need some.

                                                   ***************

The next day, I am walking up to one of the most incredible fitness centers I have ever been in in my life at the Four Seasons in Fort Worth, Texas.   And low and behold, there are Magic Eye pictures on this wall before you enter.  So I stop, thinking I'm going to take another run at trying to figure these things out, and stare for a while at this wall.   And like most things in life, if you practice often enough or try often enough, one day you see something differently and it just clicks.

No waaaaay!  

It is a baseball player!   

And he's about to pitch.   

Knee up, arm in the air, ball in hand.   

HA HA!!

Well, HOW about that??!  

(I am extremely proud of myself at this moment.)

How on earth have I never seen this before??!!!   

Now I totally want to go and buy one of these books and put back on my coffee table again and be super impressive at parties.

"Really, you can't see the Christmas tree with its lights on in the middle of this page?   Wow! - it is SOO clear to me.  Have another look."

                                                        ********************

So, here's the thing.

I spent hours each day fussing over what I was going to wear to the game.   I dried my hair (this is a rarity in itself), got the beach waves curled (ok, so I tried), put make up on (rarity #2) and ironed my shirt (unheard of).   I had 3 different pairs of shoes on, two different purses and God knows how many fashion panic attacks.

And then I pulled myself together and had to give my head a shake.

  

Sarah Louise, it should not matter what everyone else is wearing or what the odds are you will hit a TV camera along the way.   

What did I actually feel like MYSELF in and could actually enjoy a baseball game in?    

A pair of ripped jeans and a long sleeve shirt and flip flops.

Yep, that's who I am.  Ripped jeans and purple backpack.   

Trust me, I so want to be wearing Christian Dior, driving my black Mercedes convertible with blonde beach waves blowing in the wind wearing Manolo Blahnik shoes, but it sadly is not in my cards.

I'm not even going to pretend that I can compete with the likes of any of these people. 

I'm just going to be me. 

So, jeans it is.

And you know what?   

As I'm watching from the stands as the game ends and the score is final, all the wives, families and fans around me are jumping up and down, cheering and high five-ing, in amazement that we are 2-0.  There are guys wrapped in Canada flags rushing down to the field level to try and get an autograph and an unbelievable number of Blue Jays fans that somehow made it to Texas in a 24 hour window to see the beginning of this series.   The media rushes out with the cameras and it is absolutely electric to be in that park and feel the energy of how well this team travels.

I stand there smiling, taking it all in.  

All of a sudden, amidst the noise, you see the picture-within-the-picture.

Underneath the fancy bags and boots, we are all just one group of people hoping this baseball team is going to win another game and it really doesn't matter what outfit you are in.

                                                      *************

I was never able to see the 3D objects because I never tried to look into the picture.  I just kept staring at it, blankly, without understanding that I needed to look at the picture differently to see the object inside.  

If only we could all look past all the noise and see that we aren't so different after all.  

Because tonight, regardless of high heels or flip flops, we still share common ground.  

We are an entire country, united by a single ball team, with the hopes and dreams of winning this game and moving on.

#ourmoment

                                 

Forces of Nature

I stand and watch as my neighbors' grandchildren release two red helium balloons.

At first, the boys go running down the street after the balloons yelling, trying to catch them and get them back, refusing to let them go.   The farther the balloons are drifting ahead, bobbing off the sidewalk and starting to lift higher, the harder and faster the boys run to try and catch up.  

After a while, they realize that they can't catch them and they stop running but they still keep looking up, trying to follow them for as long as they can.

"Can you still see them Sarah?  I can, I can ... they are way up there by the top of the trees!!"

And this continues for a while until they are even higher now, little red dots against an open sky.

I keep blinking and blinking, and every now and then I can catch a glimpse, but I know they are gone.  The distance has grown so far between us and the balloons that they are now nowhere to be seen.

                                                          ****************

I have a Love/Hate relationship with September.   

This isn't new. I've been this way as long as I can remember.   I am holding onto Summer like a red balloon and it is wrapped so tightly around my wrist, there are indentation marks.   The balloon is pulling and pulling at me that it's time to go and I am fighting against its release like a child holding onto her favorite toy.

I want it back.

I want the sunshine and vitamin D.
The road trips with the top down.
The sand between my toes and the sound of the water as it hits the shore.
Long solitary walks on the beach hypnotized by my headphones.
The steady breeze from the open screens.
Tank tops and tan lines.
Cottage weekends and dock-tails, filled with campfires and conversation.
Sailboats and sunglasses, swimming pools and sprinklers.
Seasonal vegetables and visits to the Farmers market on a Saturday morning.
Winery tours and Muskoka chairs.
BBQ's and beer can chicken.
Outdoor concerts, lighters in the sky, long weekends and firework displays.

I want to hit the rewind button and go back to June and play this video again.

Don't get me wrong - I do love the Seasons and what they represent. 
I just think some should be shorter than others.

I want about two or three weeks of the Fall, preferably on a trip to the Muskokas by a lake.  Where all the leaves are at their finest colors of deep, cherry reds and golds.   Or at a tailgate party in Buffalo, watching the lunatic Bills fans in action, grilling burgers with a cold one, throwing the ball around.   Or making stew on a Sunday afternoon flipping between Baseball and Football in conflicting timeslots on television, while one season ends and another begins.   Or enjoying the peaceful feeling the first time the fireplace kicks on and I can hear the simple crackle it makes in the background as it warms the room.   These are the days of long runs in the cooler air, long sleeves and leggings, past all the dog walkers in their heavier jackets and boots.  

And then I'd like about a week of the pretty, snowy days, preferably December 24th.   The house decorated for Christmas.   The presents under the tree.   The mini lights twinkling away with the pot lights dimmed low.  The Winter days that make you proud to be Canadian where the temperature hovers around -1C and the wind isn't blowing sideways.   Where the kids make snowmen and their faces are flushed from the cold when they come inside, bringing 3 inches of snow in with them.   Baileys and hot chocolate, heated seats and hockey sticks.  The first snowfall sitting in the hot tub with a glass of wine in hand.   The season where the days are short and the runs are too.   Where, as I battle the elements of wind and snow running around my neighborhood and by the lake, I can see my breath and smell the smoke from the wood burning fireplaces, smiling, as my lungs take in the crispness of the air and I feel completely alive.

I'm not gonna lie.   I could pretty much do without the February blues.   Just get me right out of here on the next plane to the closest possible place to the equator.   The dark, miserable days in between New Year's and Spring where the wind takes your breath away and the house can't stay warm.   When the Superbowl is over and days where it's too cold to run.   (and I will run until it's -20C so this says a lot).  I struggle with February as much as September.  I've had enough.  I cross the days off the calendar one by one and start the countdown to March. By this point, I'm convinced I truly do have Seasonal Anxiety Disorder and no amount of Vitamin D seems to correct this.   I start talking about buying one of those light therapy things, although I never do, and I complain that another year has gone by and we really should've gone away and that it's everyone else's fault I'm in this state, because we didn't go somewhere like I told them would make me feel better. And then I finish it off stating that I'm going next year, even if I'm going on my own.  Repeat.   Every.   February.

And then one day Spring finally breaks.   I can see the snow and ice melting and hear it trickle into the storm drains in the streets.   The sun shines a little brighter and more people start to dot the sidewalks.   Coats are replaced with sweaters and boots becomes shoes.   There is a feeling in the air that is lighter and full of hope and promise as everything starts to thaw.  It is just a question of time before the long days of Summer and heat waves begin. 

It's in those days, once the misery of February is over after the long, dark days of Winter, that I truly appreciate how stunning the seasons are and how very fortunate we are to experience all of them in their extremes.  That my fantasy of pouring drinks in a straw hut on the beach, where the suns shines 365 days of the year, would short change the beauty of the seasons in their entirety and I should be so grateful for every raindrop and snowflake.

The seasons remind us of the forces of nature.   They remind us that the only thing constant we can count on is change.  Our lives bring us the equivalent of the harshest Winters, followed by the inevitability of Spring.   

"Without the rain, there will be no rainbows.   Without the Winter, there would be no Spring".

But the seasons always change.  

The snow always melts and the flowers bloom.

                                                              ****************


Today, I watch the leaves start to fall one by one outside my window.  The daylight is slipping away a little quicker now and it's almost time to strip the gardens for the Winter.  The wind is swirling, the rain is relentless and the power cuts out.   Even the squirrels are running around picking up what's left of the scraps before they hibernate. 

And I know it's gone.   

I bring the boots and sweaters upstairs from storage and pack up the flip flops and sundresses.

And even though I'm not finished with it yet, I symbolically untie the string around my wrist and release the balloon.  I stand by the window and watch it drift away, higher and higher off into the distance, desperately wanting to chase after it and bring it back for one more day.  

But I don't.   
I let it go.

And then I say goodbye, trusting that there will be another Summer ahead.

First Date

I am sitting in one of my favorite little Italian restaurants in Chicago when I notice them walk in.  

She has long blonde hair, curled in beach waves, frayed jean shorts, flip flops and a white tank.   He has a Cubs hat on, plaid long sleeve shirt and army green cargo shorts.   They are in their 20's, actually mid 20's, I would say.    

They must be on a date.    

Awww, he just pulled out her chair for her.   

Okay, they are definitely on a date.  

No phones .. might be a first date actually.

They are LOCKED IN. 

Both leaning towards the centre of the table talking.   Laughing.   She is constantly running her fingers through her hair.   Her foot is tapping the ground.   He seriously looks like he's going to jump over the table and I bet they have absolutely no idea how ridiculously obvious their body language is.  He gets up and walks around the table to her.   He has his hand on the back of her neck and slowly leans down to kiss her.

Every other person in the restaurant is now looking the other way.   

Aww, come on ... really????   

Dude, lesson #1.   

Wait.  Until.  You.  Leave.  The.  Restaurant. 

They are locked in.   

Their own world.

Young Love.
A First Date.

Oh, if I only knew at that age what I know now.  I wonder how many pages I would go back and rewrite and what I would keep the same.   Completely in love with the idea of being in love, driven solely by my heart and emotions, with a permanent struggle to control my mind or apply one ounce of intelligence or logic.  I was fearless about starting over with a sheer determination that my soulmate was around the corner. In my mind, it was all a matter of time before he would miraculously appear, like a scene in the movie Serendipity was about to unfold, with some fortunate accident of being in the same place at the same time and it all fell into place.  I believed in destiny to such an extreme that I left a wake of destruction and broken hearts, including many times my own, in this quest for my utopian fairytale, without ever considering there could be some effort involved in making things work or bumps in the road.   

As I've said before, it's a good time up here in my mind.  I actually think it's quite remarkable progress to finally start making sense of some of my lessons.

I so clearly remember how giddy that first date feels, when the chemistry exceeds any maturity or wisdom of the grind to survive the years ahead.  The electricity and buzzing energy all searching for release, geared up for the adventure and attraction to someone new.  Adrenaline cranked as selective bits and pieces of information are unraveled in conversation while the rest of the world fades to black for that one moment in time.

I smiled tonight watching this couple suffer through one drink, trying to starve off their infatuation. 

And I thought of all they have to learn ahead.

Tomorrow will be an endless, painful waiting game for the next form of contact and the rush from the notification sound of a new message.   The dance of being too available or not available enough in today's dating world of instant messaging and unrealistic expectations.  Mistakes of saying the wrong thing at the right time or the right thing at the wrong time.  And slowly starting to shed insecurities, test the waters, and ride out the emotional instability of a new beginning.

Soon, if they make it, they will then fall into the routines of day to day existence.   

I wonder if they will have the depth to enjoy simple pleasures of morning coffee and Saturday dinners or if they will struggle to make ends meet.   I wonder if their friendship will be strong enough to sustain a lifetime of twists and turns or if the romance dries up and they are left with an empty shell.   Will they be able to avoid the grenades strewn across their path or fall to modern day statistics by one unexpected curve ball? Does the distance between them increase as the TV gets turned on and they get lost scrolling through phones and tablets or will they still hold hands at 90 and still remember how their story started?

They walk past me and out the door.

Into the unknown of their future.

And tomorrow, their instant message game will begin.

But tonight, their presence has left me with reflection on my own beginnings and allowed me to take a moment of gratitude to what was, what wasn't and where I am today along this truly unpredictable ride of life.

   

Are We Out Of The Woods Yet?

I blindly put one foot in front of the other and continue on my path looking for the way out.  One foot in front of the other until I realize I am back in the exact same spot I started.

(Are we out of the woods yet?)

The woods.

This is the dark place we walk into filled with frustration and sometimes despair trying to find a way back out to the light.

The woods synonymous to our struggles where it's difficult to see the slightest progress because we are fixated in only one outcome on our desired path and unable to see a different approach to get there.

This is the place where our clarity is clouded by the overwhelming enormity of the forest.  We become paralyzed unable to find the way through past this daunting cloud.

The woods vary for everyone.   We all have a unique story and set of individual life lessons that only we can figure out in our own time.   Sometimes it's all so very clear from the outside from those around us but we are still stuck  unable to see how altering our path will change the outcome.

My friend's VISA gets maxed to $500 so the bank raises the limit to $2000 and when the card hits that, they raise it some more because the minimum payments always are met.

I watch the same dysfunctional relationships repeat the same cycle with consistent hope and promise of a different outcome next time yet the variables all remain the same.

I lose my job and need to stop to understand where the failure occurred  long enough to see a purpose and make a change.  It is followed by a dark hole of internet job searching, rising anxiety and panic over making ends meet.

Someone close to me is grief stricken by the loss of someone so close it's unbearable to process. Wandering through each day in a zombie like trance unable to understand and unsure how to lose the guilt of being spared so they can continue on their own personal journey.  Their solitude and grief continues.

(Are we out of the woods yet?)

The woods are our lessons, our struggles and our individual personal growth in our walk of life.

We are bounced around lost in our own woods like a player in the hunger games arena, stuck in the same part of the game until we have conquered the lesson and thrust to the next.

And somehow we believe that once we get through this and find our way out, that's the end of our life challenges.

That there will be nothing else left to conquer.

If she could just clear our credit card balance.
If their relationship would just work.
If I just get a new job.
If they could just bring them back.
If they could just understand how this happened.

We stumble through the arena at our own speed getting a few more bumps and bruises realizing it's all part of our lessons in our journey of life. And then we start to recognize that we are never out of the woods long before there is a new entrance, another lesson waiting to be learned and another element to the games that we do not have control over waiting around the corner.

She cuts up her credit card to chip away at the balance and finds her way back to even.  The minute it's cleaned up she tormented by the loss of a loved one.

They make a decision to repair a broken relationship and find their way back only to discover a different set of problems lurks around the corner.

I find a new job in six months and and am next challenged with a cross country move.

Time begins to heal.  They attend counseling and support and read endless information to help grieve and relearn how to live. They spend the first time in ages in laughter and highs again only to find the following day that one partner is laid off and now have a new challenge of financial hardships begins.

********************************************************************************************

So I'm stuck in the woods.   And this time I've been in for a while.  I've set a target.   A personal goal for the year.   And it's not going well.   And I'm not gonna lie.   I'm not a fan of being behind schedule.   So I'm stressed.   Must meet goal. Must not fail.   So naturally I'm worried.   I'm pretty worried that I might not make it.   And the worry is likely not helping the situation and furthering the time I spend here in this fabulous set of trees I'm in.  This is my latest lesson.   And it's about looking after my own health and wellbeing.

********************************************************************************************

I put my running shoes on and head out. 

The song begins.  

Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we in the clear now?
Are we in the clear now?

I put one foot in front of the other.

This has to be the day. Please let this be the day.  I want 4 miles to feel as I do at 2. I try to visualize the outcome. I want instant results and I'm frustrated that my body is not cooperating with me.  That familiar ache burns and starts at a mile and a half like it has for a few months now.   I am fighting the distance and my ability to run. The cramping continues.  I talk to myself. Breathe through it.  Sarah, you got this.  Just push through. One more song.   One more song.

And then it dawns on me.  

I have to stop fighting.  I have to stop worrying.  I need to accept that this might be beyond my control. Maybe I don't get to dictate the speed to which I find the way out of these woods.  Maybe it's time to stop kicking and screaming trying to force something or fix something that might belong to a different timeframe or maybe this even will surface as a completely different lesson.  I need to trust the timing of everything.   Just because I'm struggling to run today doesn't mean I won't ever get there.   Maybe this lesson is about slowing down, not racing to the end.   Maybe this lesson extends past half marathon training and to a deeper message of how I'm living.

This too shall pass and when it does, the finish line will be replaced with something else.

Our learning never stops.  And maybe the speed we find our way depends on how well we listen to the cues and respond.

One foot in front of the other. 
One foot in front of the other.  
Trying to find my way.  

Knowing I am exactly where I should be.

(Are we in the clear yet?  In the clear yet, good.)

I'll Quit Tomorrow

I'll quit tomorrow.

I'll quit when I turn 19.

I'll quit when I turn 25.

I'll quit when I'm 30.

I'll quit after my wedding.

I'll quit after my divorce.

I'll quit after my move.

I'll quit once I start my new job.

I'll quit New Year's Day.

                                          ********************

I don't know anyone who doesn't have some sort of vice.   

Some form of intentional or unintentional self destructive behavior.   Another drink, another sweet, a drug induced high to sooth a raging temper.  A cycle of poor relationships.  A tv show to escape from reality, mindless scrolling through phones, internet and social media sites into a fantasy world of where we wish we were and on and on.  Anything that alters or numbs our current reality.  The way we look, the way we think, the way we cope.  To fill in the voids.

In 2016, smoking is seen as the scum of the earth, most socially unacceptable habit in our modern existence.

And it's a habit, I'm not proud to say, I have spent most of my life in various stages of quitting.   

Just quitting, just relapsing or just thinking about one or the other.   An all consuming part of my day to day thought process.   I would not exaggerate to say that I probably would think about stopping or caving hundreds of times per day and have for over 25 years.

So, I'm writing this for two reasons.

One, in hopes that if there are any other souls out there like me, that I motivate or inspire just one of them to change the direction of their future by changing how they approach quitting.   And if not with smoking, then maybe another habit that is impacting living a better life that needs to be addressed.

And two, that I own up to this once and for all.   That I come out of the closet and stop hiding and pretending that this hasn't been a lifelong battle for me.   And by publicly sharing my story, I am committing to never pick up another cigarette for the rest of my life.   

Not at a party, not with a glass of wine or 3, not on a bad day, never again.

                                              ********************

Many of you now know bits and pieces of my past that I've talked about in my writing so far and sometimes I've mentioned things more than once.   

I was born in Manchester, England.

I moved to Sarnia, Ontario when I was 7 years old.

I was the new girl.

I had a funny accent.

I had started school a year earlier in England so I was put into Grade 2 even though my age dictated I should have been in Grade 1.

And there it began.

Trying to catch up. 

I wonder how my life would've played out if I went into Grade 1 instead of Grade 2.

I wonder what would've happened if I was the smartest Grade 1 kid instead of the youngest Grade 2 kid always fighting to be like the other kids in my class.    (Ok, so I might not have been the smartest kid either way).

I worked hard to fit in.

I learned the accent.

I bought the name brand clothes.

I had birthday parties.

I wrote notes in class.

I lived for recess playing double dutch and hopscotch.

I wanted to be one of the cool kids.

Then I started Grade 9.

I didn't make the cheerleading team which, at the time, was the be all and end all of existence.  

I was crushed.

Rejection took its toll and I started making some questionable choices.

My memories of Grade 9 and the beginning of 10 are really hazy.  I am not really sure how it all shook out but I definitely took a wrong turn in my earlier high school years.  (Please do not remind me of the details.) Crimped hair, Whitesnake and Friday night dances in a random church somewhere smoking cigarettes.   I honestly have no idea what on earth I was thinking.  It wasn't daily.   It was one off weekend dances and hey, everyone else was doing it, so why not.

I'll just quit tomorrow.

I moved to Guelph in Grade 10.   Smack half way through the school year.   Our public school system wasn't semestered so not only did I land in a new school halfway through a school year, it was a Catholic school and I wasn't Catholic.  Might as well have put a neon spot light on me entering the school in my kilt and knee socks.

And the same year I started my first job at McDonald's and back then, the break room was filled with coffee and smoke.

As I'm writing, it is all so clear but at the time I had no idea that I spent all my energy on external acceptance and trying to fit in instead of embracing who I was.  

Smoking was my ticket in.   

To be part of a group of people.   

At the time, to be socially accepted.   

And I believed I could quit anytime.

I'll quit tomorrow.

But I didn't.

I'll quit when I turn 19.

Definitely when I'm 20.

I'll quit when I turn 25.

One more year.

I'll quit when I'm 30.

I just need to settle into my new house.

I'll quit after my wedding.

I just need to settle into my new job.

I'll quit after my divorce.

I just need to settle in to be alone again.

I'll quit after my move.

I just need to settle in to my new city.

I'll quit once I start my new job.

I just need to get adjusted and then I'll stop.

I'll quit New Year's Day.

But I didn't.

That's how it started.

It started when I wanted to fit in.

It became an escape when I needed a break.

A crutch when I was falling apart.

A shield when I was telling a story.

A means of weight control.

A placebo to managing my emotions.

And at one point years ago, how I started and ended every day.

I should quit.

I have to quit.

I need to quit.

I should quit for my family.

I should quit because it's socially unacceptable now.

I should quit because it's bad for me.

                                                ***************

Let me tell you something.

You do not need to tell a smoker that it's bad for them nor give them a reason to stop.

You do not need to lecture them on how many chemicals are in each cigarette or how they are killing themselves daily.

They are quite aware.

There are signs on every package.

There is commercials on television.

There are ads in magazines.

There is eduction in the school systems.

How many people do you know that have quit smoking because of someone telling them it is bad for them?   Very few, if any.

I have fought this private internal war for years, tried every form of "assistance" to stop and have hid it from my family.   I am quite aware it's a horrible, filthy habit.

Champix, the patch, cold turkey, gradual reduction, hypnosis, acupuncture, BIE, you name it.   You would think I was part of a professional quitting research project. I could probably teach a class on why all these options failed for me but the number one reason is that I didn't want to do the work.   I wanted an all-in-one solution without the work.  I wanted the "easy way" to quit smoking like Allan Carr writes in his book.   But the other reason is that I was quitting because I was "supposed to" and "should" and "need to" but never because I "wanted to change my life" or "wanted to quit".

Every time I've fallen off the wagon has been a different reason.

I might lose my job from being such an emotional mess.

I'm going to gain weight.

I think I'm one of those people that's "meant" to smoke (yes, this was a real thought).
Maybe I'll only smoke when I drink.

I even went as far as researching the benefit of nicotine to the brain and convinced myself it was actually necessary for me mentally. (completely delusional)

Because I didn't want to stop for myself.

It's pretty much that simple.

I felt like I was "giving something up" for other people and so one of the reasons I kept failing was that I was always angry, feeling like people didn't understand what I was going through, doing this for THEM.

But as the years wore on and our society became less tolerant of smokers, I started to change my ways.

I stopped smoking at work.

A few years later, I stopped smoking in my car.

Over time, I stopped smoking everywhere except with other smokers or at home by myself and just a couple a day.   But I just couldn't kick it.

In fact, for the past 6 or 7 years, very few people know that I even smoked at all because I didn't want them to.  

The past year my swirling thoughts continued on quitting.

Every day started with thoughts that I would quit tomorrow and it was plaguing me that I was this total fraud.  I was physically fit and running and eating well and this just didn't fit my lifestyle at all.  As I've been writing, I've realized how much I love to help others and inspire change, yet I hadn't dealt with myself and my own coping mechanisms.

The final straw for me was two months ago.   I had got myself into such a state worrying about it, that as I lit up, I could feel my heart rate start to increase with anxiety.     

My body was screaming at me that it was time.   It was warning me to get this dealt with  and I knew I needed to change.

So I went and bought the patch.   I put it on the next morning and it increased my heart rate and my heart started pounding.   

I threw the patch in the garbage and sat in my living room, looking out the window into space.     

This is ridiculous.

I don't want to continue smoking and I can't stop.   

What am I going to do? 

I. Need. Help.  

So I started reading. 

I read all the sites on quitting smoking, the education about our lungs and health, the stats on lung cancer.  And to be honest, it really didn't help.  I'd read them all before. 

One afternoon, I was walking through the airport on my way back from Chicago and I wanted a new book.   I'd seen "The Power of Habit" before but for some reason that day, I picked it up.   

I began to think that maybe I needed a different approach.   

What if I could add in enough new good habits that it made my old habit slip away more easily?

For the last 45 days, I've read every book I could find on changing habits and listened to loads of clips on breaking addictions.

Johann Hari has a Ted Talk clip that is absolutely brilliant called "Everything You Think You Know About Addiction Is Wrong".  (I'll post on FB because it's THAT good).   He talks about an experiment where rats are put into an empty cage with one bottle of water and one bottle of heroin. The results start off as you would expect that the rats prefer the drug water and overdose.   But years later,  a new dimension is added to this experiment.   They create two cages - one is the empty cage with the bottle of water and bottle of heroin and the other is "Rat Park" - full of cheese, colored balls, and other friends for the rats.   The rats that went into the empty cage without heroin overdosed almost 100% of the time.   But the rats that went to rat park almost never went to the bottle of heroin and was 0% in overdose rates.   

If heroin is one of the most addictive substances on earth and smoking is moreso than heroin, what is it about rat park that works and how can I apply it to my own life to assist me to change?

It is an absolutely fascinating approach that made more sense to me than anything else I'd read and was a turning point for me to (knock on wood) be successful.

Instead of spending time reading about the pain and misery of quitting, the withdrawal symptoms, and how HARD it was going to be to stop, I started to create Rat Park.

I looked at the times during the week and day I felt most vulnerable and tried to book things at those times that would change my environment and create a new habit.

I started sailing again every Wednesday night with my Dad which chews up the entire evening just getting there and back.

I signed up for bootcamp classes 3 days a week.  After 10 minutes of jump squats and walking lunges, my heart rate is through the roof.   I convinced myself that my choice was between smoking or those classes, because there was no chance my heart could handle both, and I choose the classes in this mental debate every time, because I love them.

I'm reading a book a week and focusing on learning all I can about helping others in finding ways to accept our own paths and overcome obstacles to find happiness.

And the kinder I am to myself on this adventure, the more fulfilled I become.  And strangely, unlike every other effort I've made, something within my brain is rewiring during this process.   I feel strong, I am starting to see a clearer vision of where I belong and what purpose I have to others. There is all this extra space in my thoughts now that I am spending far less time worrying about how everyone would be so disappointed in me or obsessing about when I was going to quit.  (oh yes, I know, to live in my head).  All the negative thoughts and self doubt are slowly being replaced with a raw honesty to share my lessons and accept my imperfections for their place on my timeline.  And I'm starting to understand how some of my choices have dented my self worth that requires some mending and forgiveness to heal.

And as the days are going by, I realized that my life is coming full circle.

As each of my Sarnia friends are connecting one by one on Facebook, I'm drawn back to that time in my life.   I'm thinking about what I loved to do as a child and how I can find my way back.

As I have said recently, I feel like I've been spit out of a time capsule.   The faces have all aged but I still see the exact same person I knew and I still feel like that same little girl I once was.  I don't know their life stories or if we would've still been friends today.  I don't know if I would've plagued myself with years of smoking if I still lived there or if this was part of my journey regardless.  But these connections have led me to a lot of reflection on if my life looks the way I want it to and what changes, if any, I still need to make.

                                                    ************** 

I am now 43 years old. (Am I?  Or am I 42?   I don't even know ...good grief)

I am the new girl that shows up every Wednesday night on the water hoping we will win at least one race or finish in the front half.

I am the new girl at the gym determined to complete every last rep.

I am the new girl again to all my long lost friends from Sarnia.

I am the new girl at my Rat Park I've created but this time around, I'm perfectly content with being different and not so concerned with what everyone else thinks or trying to fit in.  

Almost two months later, I am no longer waking up thinking "I'll quit tomorrow".

And each day that passes I feel like I'm finding my way back to the path I fell off as a child.   That I'm closing the gap between the person I was meant to become and who I am today and I am completely at peace with that.