Camino Blues

I suppose when you return to your most basic instincts, Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, it’s going to be a bit of a difficult transition back into first world problems. For six weeks, I focused solely on walking my daily twenty plus kilometers, ensuring I had enough food throughout the day and seeking a shelter of a hostel for that evening. And during these KMs, I made such deep connections with people who made lasting impressions on me. Coming to walk the Camino alone and connecting with so many different souls was a game changer. I’ve never endured such a journey with so much solidarity and so much belonging. I suppose this is where the Camino Blues comes from. I thought it would be such an easy transition coming home to the security of my very same job and the comfort of a home town. But to say it’s been difficult is a rather light statement.

I’ve found myself struggling with my emotions just as much as I’ve been struggling with my job and my short / long term goals. As my sister-friend admitted to me the same thing: disconnectedness and complacency have snuck into my work life and subtle about this I have not been. Parts of it have been coming to terms with the fact that I’ve now committed to permanent job which means my travel days are over, at least for a little while. I’m trying to create more of a work balance of current tasks and new responsibilities so I can gain experience and have an easier transition into a higher level HR role for when the opportunity presents itself. But, I’m not feeling at all successful as my administrative duties keep growing as does my displeasure. Don’t get me wrong, there is literally no task beneath me, but if I’m not growing in my position or working towards traveling, I keep asking myself, why am I staying?

As soon as I landed in Canada the Hunter and I hit the ground running, which has paid off well. After several weekends bartering with Mother Nature, hopping that winter doesn’t come too fast so we could paint the Hunter’s fence, addition and complete other touch-ups in preparation for putting it up for sale, his place sold. We need to move out by this Sunday. We’re looking at purchasing some property and I’m pretty sure I’ve found our forever (ummm, five year?) place which we’ll be officially viewing tomorrow (I've crept hard a few times already). Not to sound already too emotionally invested, but I’m completely smitten with. This is a double edged sword, because as you know me, you know that love for adventure. We’ve talked on multiple occasions and assured ourselves that investing in a place doesn’t mean the end to passport stamps; the benefits of the ‘hoof is that everything is very rentable. I also  know that I’m so very ready to cohabitate with this guy. I was ready a the very beginning with our starter canoe expedition and avocado snacks when we first met - he doesn’t need to know this, he'll freak out a little. So, this is yet another box I never thought I’d check off.

I suppose my 800KM walk did more than allow me to ponder and appreciate my current life, it had also forced me to open doors that I’ve always thought were barred windows, which is making me feel vulnerable. I've never imagined I would become career driven and interested in climbing the corporate ladder, and I never thought I would feel so crushed when I was denied that opportunity due to a lack of experience, which I’m still not actually gaining. The desire to purchase a place where I can start canning veggies and set cross country ski tracks on our very own land is a desire that is so foreign and frightening, yet still so strong and enticing. I still want to have my cake and eat it to, and I'm concerned that my intercontinental adventures will get lost in these new found cravings.

Last week the Hunter accused me of not trusting him and this is not the first time he's brought this up. I've purchased another Volkswagon (think leather interior and heated seats) after totaling the last one with a moose. I figure if the first one can withstand such a hit, how can I possibly go wrong? But there was an oil burning smell while it idled. Last night I went for my very last run at my cabin and collided with a neighbor's dog. After calling every mum I knew as I wasn't sure if I needed stitches, I jumped in my car and my oil light screamed at me. My landlord automatically drove me to the hospital where I got a total of 11 band new stitches (a combination of both knees). My mum's bestie, and a very wonderful friend showed up and the three of us chatted with the dreamy surgeon and his bubbly med student while they fixed me. The party in emerg was exactly what I needed. 

So, I don’t trust easily, I'm not sure if it's past issues or this is just how I'm made. Making my own poor life choices is one thing, but relying on someone and trusting them with my well being, even someone who I would happily become left hand heavy with, is something I don’t do well. Walking across Spain alone was easy in a sense because I was making all of my own decisions. I love where my life is going. I love that I'm slowly acquiring a whole other family, and perhaps one day, two more sisters. I sat through a wedding on the Hunter's side and listened to the speech from the notary and soaked it all in. The Hunter told me at the ceremony he said he didn't know if he wanted any of these people to attend his wedding (he wants to elope), and I just kept thinking how our celebration, whatever that may be, would be outdoors, sloppy and full of our favorite people.

The thing is, I was so sure on living my life with one set standard and I think that's slowly evolving. I'm becoming someone I never thought I would be, or more importantly, never thought I'd want to be, and it's horrifying how much eagerly I aware these altering priorities and physical changes, but it's intimidating at the same time. I'm terribly indecisive, but I know where my next continent will be and I know the Hunter will be coming along for the ride. It's the in-between that is scaring the shit out of me. So, I suppose I’m feeling rather vulnerable letting my newfound heart strings decide rather than my logical head.

My cousin's Facebook post asked:

What advice would twenty year old you give yourself?

What advice would you give your twenty year old self?

And a quote came to me: Life goes by fast. Enjoy it. Calm down. It's all funny.

Could it really be that simple?

Kindly,

A girl growing roots.

These sins of mine

 There is this mountain that each pilgrim had to tackle on the early stages of the Camino called Alro Del Perdon - mountain of forgiveness. It's certainly not the hardest hills to climbed during the journey, but there's something so gratifying about finally within touching distance to the windmills that each pilgrim has been constantly viewing and will continue to spot and grimace at the sight of due to the fear of having to see those gigantic posts up close again which would mean yet another steady climb.

Essentially, the concept of the Alro Del Perdon is that with climbing the mountain and carefully going down its steep incline, you are forgiven of your sins past and present

My newfound American friend who greatly aided in the success of this walk thanks to distractions of fantastic story telling and our common love for Harry Potter (I've booked a tour in London, FYI) explained that she believed when one dies, for her, she views purgatory as a time when one reviews the more thoughtless and shameful moments of one's life and commentating these times with a particular Him *cringe*.

But truly, most 20+ kilometer days and hours of walking were spent appreciating just how blessed I am.

But what's really taken two glasses of vino blanca to admit closely followed by a third to type onto my phone (it's rest day - Rest days are for drinking), is that I don't feel that I need forgiveness for these sins of mine.

I don't regret the cockiness that was acquired as I became good at my last job. Yelling at superintendents over payroll, and perhaps running my mouth for a little too long has made me strong when my confidence fails. It has helped me work on being less passive aggressive and directly stating how I really feel rather than ponder over the previous conversation. I won't apologize for remaining in constant contact with my sisters during my life abroad and my mom texting the Hunter more than me, while I failed to introduce the Hunter to my dad when they first met at my sister's for the first time. We're not in a good place right now and so that's how I'm choosing to cope with it - by not. Despite sometimes wondering how often I lean on wine for my vocal boldness I'm still planning on brewing my own batch come September. I love some of the Hunters People more then my own. I'm not sorry.

But there's the thing: like my accomplishments, these sins have etched me into who I am. That bridge I burned at my Golden, BC job made it so South America would become one hell of an adventure -destinations, friends, hookups and all. My lack of relationship with my own family has made me fall in love with the Hunter's own. And breaking up with a boy before Asia makes me realize what a big deal it is to want to stay in a relationship in Europe and I miss the shit out of the Hunter. Every. Single. Day.

So I've reached Santiago. I'm still in complete denial about this fact. I've decided to continue onwards to Finnistere to the ocean where I'll focus on walking solo and enjoy the solitude. I've got less than 3 weeks in Europe and a little under 100 kilometres to go and I promise you, it won't be spent on asking for forgiveness.

Kindly,

Kirstin

Not all storms disrupt your life,  some come to clear your path.

The Wonderfully-Hard

Every pilgrim can be saught out by a handful of similarities. You'll recognize them by their Camino calf tan line from wearing leggings to their knees and forgetting to reapply the sunscreen. You can see whose been walking by an all too common knee brace or an obvious limp. You'll can see their doiter or osprey backpacks, which they will insist on bringing it into the loo or will be carefully watching it while purchasing soup - it's their lifeline after all (regardless if they say all they need is their passport, CC and cell). And attached to that pack is a shell. The shell is a significant representation of the Camino in relation to St. James, which I will be into in a fee posts. But this symbol can be found everywhere, from markings to follow the path to Santiago, which is what I've been following, it's etched into stone carvings and incorporates into beautiful designs on buildings and beyond.

You will see no shell on my pink backpack. Everyday on the Camino has be wonderful and hard. Fellow trekkers ask me if I'm going to Santiago and I reply hesitantly: I want too.  Everything about this trip has been wonderfully-hard, from realizing that I'm not so interested in solo adventures anymore as I'm hurting and craving for that +1 to come with, the emotional tolles that come with your Camino friends going ahead or staying being and the body aches that have been popping up as soon as one heals, are just a few of those nasty moments that make this walk just so wonderful. The scenery has been truly astonishing and how my body of mine has survived is just as much as a surprise, but at the back of my mind, I've been wondering if this entire walk is really mine.

And then my eye is irritated. I've been coping by telling myself I'm crazy and fine and that I'll be in Burgos in two nights if it's something serious. A funny man from Europe mentions in concern that my eyes look rough. And they both start hurting and the only relief come from sleep. My new friend Jay held my hand as I teared up in frustration and fear in a room full of pulgrims.

Before we left our hostel, before the sun woke up, Grandma (we've taken to calling the two Korean people grandma and grandpa as they truly are old enough to be and probably are) gave me a hug and told me with love and certainty that I will be okay.

I worriedly walk my way seven of the twenty required kilometers to Burgos, but my eyes are screaming, from the sun. I shame myself by saying my possible eye infection is a result of cheaping out on 5-7 Euro hostels. I kick myself for not dealing with it ealier at a clinic when surly the only thing open on a sunday is the emergency. And the crazy kicks in. Am I going to go blind in Spain? How am I going to run a marathon blind? I didn't cry on the Camino, not today anyways, but I did cry in the hospital when they sent me to an eye specialist as they refused to help me at the family hospital.

I waiting in the "big room" the kind receptionist told me, after taking my passport and medical insurance  (huge shout out to Shawna, it worked and was totally worth it!). A few misguided trips and messy eye sherades later, I met with an English speaking doctor. He gave me some dye for my eyes and assured me I wouldn't die and started speaking in Spanish as my crazy took flight yet again.

He told me my eyes are dry. You're laughing and shaking your head, I know because I did.

This Canadian isn't used to such heat and spending so much time out of the office. His prescription was to wear my sunglasses and get some eyedrops and reassured me once again that I did not have an infection. I cried again.

Jf And for me, perhaps that's how I became a pilgrim. It's knowing when to know when I need to stay strong during the wonderully-hard 800km walk and when to know when I'm allowed to fall apart. It's literally a new perspective and relization that not only am I financially lucky enough to take the time to wall this walk, but physically I'm able to, too, even with a little body pain.

And so I'm formally keeping my eyes out for a shell for the following 500KM.

I've survived day 1 of the roaring hot Mesetas thanks to the man at the bar putting ice(!!) in my water blatter; these kind moments have occurred a few times when people find out I'm a solo girl [all the way] from Canada, and I couldn't be more thankful. Since Burgos, I've walked 300km. 

Truly,

A strong and especially humbled girl

If you look anything like your passport you're too sick to travel. 

Rest Days

And so at 6am, groggy and messy, I give my American Friend a quick hug and she says "I'll see you soon". This is one of the hardest parts of the Camino,  most would agree, parting with your newfound friend. You meet many fellow trekkers, walk with them for an hour, a day or two, or perhaps just share a cervasa in the shade, but I've noticed you connect hard. And quickly. There's no bullshit small talk here. You're on a Pilgrimage and deep talk begins as early as your first coffee con Leche, because no one really gets it unless you're both doing the Camino. You share an understanding of pilgrim shaming, the padding on your feet aching and the amazing simplicity of ice cream at the end of the day.

During the rest day I sneak into bars, order a coffee and quietly unplug the lamp in the corner and replace it with my phone charger (we are kicked out of our Albergue until well into the afternoon). I sneak into coffee shops scruntching my nose at chemical fregrances to fill up my water in the washroom knowing I'm getting dirty looks at my all too natural scent.

During my rest day, my heart aches to be walking and I'm trying to understand the irony of this, it's as if my brain and body are two separate identities: my back and feet scream Stop, but my head longs to not be left behind; I've got so many miles left to go.

During the rest day I walk to the top of Ventosa and lay on the grass, lounging horizontal for as long as I can, resting my back, while reading Harry Potter (I'm flying out of London, Hellllllo).

I randomly and perfectly bump into my Polish friend and we go for a quick bite to eat and vino during the hot hours of the day. She continues ten more kilometres and I continue to long after her. But that is the thing with soloing the Camino: that is her Comino and this is mine, and we must presumably walk them differently.

I was FB messaged by a Canadian friend who asked if I've seen many sites or mostly just walked.  I smiled and typed, mostly walking. But if she only knew what I've seen, what I've done. With 200KM I've walked myself into an entirely different climate, walking from the rainy Pyrenese mountains to rolling hills into hot desert lands. 16 kilometers is about easy day and my life belongings are summed up into a pink bag with eleven items. It still surprises me every day that I'm walking my way across a country, across Spain.

So I remind myself that I must listen to my body,  if I'm ever going to successfully walk 600 more kilometers. I must respect these back pains and know that one day off my feet is going to keep me going.

I hug my American Friend back just as tightly, and repeat "I'll see you soon". Know just as much as hoping that I will.

Kindly,

A Nastalgic Pilgrim

Miles to go before I sleep.

A love letter

To my little fleet of feminists,

You’re my sample of what maternal love could be (I've been looking), because I feel that you’re all a tiny bit mine, and that’s quite fabulous. To be clear, I'm a excellent use of alternative advice, call me your Plan B when it comes to how to live your life. A second opinion, perhaps.

Be sure to live hard, because you are meant to do so much more than pay bills and die. And try not to worry too much because

worrying won't change much. Volunteer, and karma will take care of the rest. Take calculated risks and make educated decisions, and sometimes you will want to make choices based on your heart rather than your head, and do that. Find a nice boy or girl who still likes to read and will contradict you - you're from a long line of strong, vocal women - you will need that. You're life list shouldn't include finding a nice boy or girl, choose big goals and a nice boy/girl will find you.

Learn how to fight with your fists. If you’re anything like your mum or your aunts, you’re going to be a blue-eyed and petit, which means a cute target. Learn how you can fight with your fists so you can confidently travel solo. Learn how to fight with your words. Being clever and knowing how to use your voice is important. Learn how to fight with your words so you can confidently travel solo. And I promise to take you on your first international adventure, if you're not ready to travel solo. We will volunteer abroad and it'll change your life. Learn how to dance, I was recently told that's an important life skill to have because you're going to have dance at public events, and so you should do it well (this is something I certainly need to work on).

You are allowed to change your mind at any point in your life. Do Not Forget This. Truly, nothing can’t be undone, and you will be so much happier when you voice your change of heart regarding this one and only life of yours.

I hope your dads genes overpowered the McNeil ones’ otherwise you’ll cry allot, and I’m really sorry about that. You’ll cry when you’re happy, hurt and frustrated. And then you’ll be angry because you’re crying, and not for the actual reason (very rational, I kmow). Sometimes these independent genes are a burden. But sometimes you just need to cry and move on.

And just to reiterate, I get to take you to get your first piercing (and I’ll get one, too), I get to be your first phone call, when you can’t call my sisters, and I get to be the aunt who you direct those hard questions to. I get to sit you down we’ll eat odd health food, which you’ll politely eat, because your mum’s will have beat politeness into you (like Gram C did to us), and you can ask me those questions that only an aunt can react to unruffled and answer at ease. And I’ll tell theatrical and, at times, uncensored stories, full of imagination and incite, explaining why your mums' are the way they are. I'll explain the crazy they've inherited and help you embrace your own. And I’ll share my own life lessons and woes as well. And I promise that I’ll provide that much needed honesty.

And to the Littlest Feminist, the newest addition: The Birth that I've failed to make and loved from afar, but this isn't any different from your sister's or cousin's and I'm comfortable with this decision as I was with Natalie and Heidi, where I sobbed in internet cafe and on that side road, grieving the day I missed. With you, I cried over my instant coffee in my Hostel, on your birthday, the day you changed so many peoples worlds, as you entered into your own.

A really lucky Aunt

Kid, you're gunna move mountains

The lessons she'll teach.

I've really never have a deep spiritual reason for hiking the Camino. I'm not pondering life, fixing myself or trying to get into shape - I'm happy with this ass of mine. I've quite simply been drawn to this trek, pulled to this path, this adventure has been calling my heart and shoes to join the mounds of people and take on the journey. And already I've realize that the Camino is has been waiting for me just as long as I've been waiting to walk it, because it's got some things to teach me.

I dropped my 13lbs backpack on the conveyor belt at the airport and look up at the Hunter, he's not feeling well, he admits and I suggest it's because he took the brunt of my butterflies for me, because I'm surpringly feeling just fine. We say our goodbyes and I walk towards the airport security goes and away from the security of the guy who is comfortable enough to let me figure myself out, outside of us. 

It's 9am in London and I'm so jetlaged I want to puke. For the next 48 hours everything seems impossible and chaotic. Any confidence I had was left on Canadian soil. You see, I'm am not a brave person. I'm questioning my whole trip. I don't even have a hostel for my first night in Europe. I'm second guessing what the fuck I'm doing on international soil. So I do it all scared. Thanks to some London friends and a brother in law and airport WiFi we find a place for me near Buckingham Palace. I hop on the train to Victoria Street and make quick friends with some American ladies and we joke about the non existence of global warming. I find pieces of my confidence and bits of my groove. 

Within my 24 hour stint in London I learn it has different currency and outlets than the rest of Europe (incert Quebec joke here). I almost miss my flight to France due to forgetting that I'm no longer in a small town domestic airport that reminds me of an old warehouse. No, I'm going to an international airport that gives me sensory overload due to mounds of people and stores. But thankfully money solves all problems including a fast track through security and I show up at my gate sweaty and one bottle of sunscreen lighter thanks to liquid restrictions  (don't worry I paid 17 pounds for a new bottle in France, FML).

Just when I think my crazy can calm we land in rain and a lacking train due to a landslide. I make fast friends with the guy who sat behind me and we share a cab into Sain Jean Pied da Port, the starting place of the Camino. 

As soon as my feet touch the Camino my crazy subsides. It's gently raining and I couldn't be happier. I walk alone and talk out load as someone in blue follows my tracks. The landscape is beautiful of rolling hills and historic houses, my ass hurts going both up and down the hills and I know I'm exactly where I need to be. I'm calm.

I confidently press past my destination and pay for it later. I soon realize I'm in short supply of water and the back of my knee hurts.  I continue to talk outloud to keep myself calm. There's a water station in an hour and it's not hot out. This is a really good lesson, I reason with myself, a lesson to not be so dumb. The water station appears, but it appears there's no water. I finally find the courage to look into my backpack and at my camo-back. Slight relief sets in, as I've still got half a liter and only 2.5 km's to go. No relief comes from my knee, though. The fog gets heavier and I munch on my pepperoni and follow the yellow markers (I'm carnivoring it hard and will probably poop my pants in the process. I should have prepared my legs and stomach, Megan reminds me). Finally I see the sign for Roncevaux.

The following morning,  I make fast fiends with three Americans  and we jive perfectly. We chat away the ten kilometers and I fully take in the views. As we stop for a cafe con Leche, it takes everything to admit that I'm hostelling here for the night. My body needs a rest and I need to overcome this jetlag. I'm still incredibly leary of this long trek and my abilities, but I know I need to respect myself if I'm going to even attempt these 800KM.

I'm not sure why my heart was so set on this adventure. My good friend said I'm exactly ready for the Camino for this is the most perfect timing, and I believe there is so much truth to that. I've got so many more lessons to learn with this adventure of mine, regardless of where I end up.

A Pilgrim

Without being scared you won't have a chance to be brave.

The Incomplete Post

With shaky hands, I cracked a Stella. I've just spent the last six minutes convincing my front load washer into opening mid cycle and then sifting through my sopping wet sheets, desperately seeking $1200 worth of Euros and my Passport. Yes. My Passport. A-fucking-gain. I ha

d to take a deep sip of beer just to type that. Fuck.

I found it by carefully placed by my precious new journal.

You see, it’s been one hell of a May. For the first time in my travel life, I’m leaving everything so very incomplete. My house isn’t in boxes, it's just in shambles – I’ll be keeping it while away for my dog more or less. And Hugo will be passed around more than the tiding plate at church; Hugo will be between houses, residing mostly at my Moms, but then spending a few weeks back in BC with my dear Dog Sitter, then back with my mom again. I’m still worried about these change of hands, as I’ll be out of cell service (and out of country), unable to make sure he’s okay.

I’m leaving a job, where, even earlier today, I made an offer to a candidate concluding this happy phone call with “I’ll see you Monday”, when my last day is tomorrow. Yes, my last work day is tomorrow. And I’ll be leaving this job with mere hints of job opportunities to come – I’ve applied for a position at that division, very curious as to how we’ll organize the interview while I’m tromping around France. *Take another sip of beer, Kirstin* I’m a little baffled at how my 14 month contract concluded so quickly. My non-travel life has never slipped by so quickly and yet I’m wondering if a certain Hunter had something to do with it. 

I raise my bottle to guy who never once verbally pondered why I didn’t ask him to come along for this adventure of mine; this guy who shakes his head at my responses of We’ll do it in August  when I mention all the random activities I think we must do throughout this summer. We’ve talked so much about future trips of Asia, Australia, and Ski-bummin’ in Smithers, the regular mentions of purchasing riverfront property and living in a fifth wheel (be still my heart) while building our own log house, and yet, he’s only ever supported my solo trip to trek in Europe. Despite paying rent in advance for my Cabin, we’re making plans to move in together, and keep the adventure going. I couldn’t be more happy and sure of this decision.

But there are conversations that have been left incomplete such as tipsy talks around babies. I’ve only been ever too honest before with this blog, so truly, why stop now. Suddenly my firm and solid no-offspring rule is wavering. I’m not saying yes, let’s just be clear. But I am asking questions to my parent friends, to strangers, hypothetical and too true, and I’m asking myself questions, also. A blue-eyed, ginger haired little girl who wears Feminist As Fuck T’s and snowboards a champ has crossed my mind a few times, I'll admit that. I suppose I’ll have approximately 800KMs to get into the worst corners of my mind and short some of these questions out.

I’ve certainly left my training incomplete for this little jaunt across France and Spain. I feel very unprepared and rather out of shape. I’m worried about the heat I’ll endure, the weight I’ll bare and the shoes I’ll wear. I know it will be hard, I just don’t want it to be impossible.

And so I finish the last of my beer and prepare to post this blog so I can prepare for bed, and I  post these fears in giggles of uncertainty and bursts of strong honesty, wondering how I got so goddamn lucky to be such a happy and scared mess. I suppose I’m just looking for a bit of reassurance that not only will everything be okay when I travel, but everything will be okay upon return, too.

Truthfully,

A scared and honest traveler.

All we have is now.

The Girl Before Me

He sent me a text message of a photo with his supervisor’s loopy signature approving the request for him to take the last week of May off. Tell Kubo I say thanks, I text back. With that, I zipped up my coat and walked into my supervisor’s office, and with marker in hand I squiggled a sad face on his large wall calendar. I pointed to the sad face and told him that May twenty-fifth would be the last day of my contract. After a week vaca down in and around Canmore to visit some friends and family, and a side trip of sky diving, quite naturally, it looks as if I’m looking at flying out of Canada on June 2^nd.

So, Lucie (a friend through my sister, who reads this blog) recently asked how I am be so brave*. I didn’t really have much of an answer, because of all things I would consider myself: hippy, minimalist, crazy-pants, feminist (radical feminist?! <3), wino, vegetarian-ish, runner, aunt, The Girl, sister, ect, I never really thought of myself as being brave. 

I’m choosing to end my contract and travel to my fourth continent knowing full well that I may come back to Canada unemployed, homeless and perhaps with some foreign disease. But this is the third(!) time I’ll be following my happiness of my heart rather than the safety of my brain, and it has worked out pretty okay thus far. This doesn’t mean I won’t be calling my big sister from some box store (Atmosphere, perhaps this time) the day before I fly out verbally puking all my fears and foes to her. That’s the thing with living hard (or being brave?), you’re allowed to second guess yourself and you’re allowed to be scared. And then do it anyway.

I love my job. Despite having to have that extra long ski/run in order calm my work-crazy at the end of the day, I often wonder if the big-wigs Must know how not-suited I am for this job. I have very bad days and days where I cry in my car, between sobs, explaining my very bad days to my good friend in the company parking lot. But I love my job. And I want to stay with my company and climb that corporate ladder, because despite at times crying, some days I know I’m kicking ass and taking names. Some days I’m on fire. I want to take on more with my role which will scare me and force me to grow. But I cannot half-heatedly take on another contract without a quick trip to that fourth Continent. So I solidify my end date, to a job I love knowing something else will come up that will make my heart just as happy. After Europe. And perhaps that’s my work-life balance, but this hasn`t always been the case. It’s taken past jobs, in past lives, where it seems there was this old Kirstin, this Girl Before Me who finally found the courage to choose a happy life over a work life, and opted to leave Calgary, for Golden, BC. It was glorious place and it was horrible job. But the thing is, once you’ve quit a job for the first time, it’s pretty easy to quite another job. So I left a job that made me cry three times in seven months, and went traveling. And that made my soul happy.

I’m a pretty confident girl. It’s taken me many years to realize that I am pretty smart, pretty kind and pretty and that the guy I get to call my Boyfriend* is pretty lucky to have me. I’ve taken the long way ‘round to get here, though. Way back in my Calgary days, during the ending of my five-year relationship, during that last year I finally started trying just as he gave up. He didn’t want me emotionally or sexually (so, that`ll make a girl incredibly insecure) and I retaliated by using  very sharp words as very sharp daggers, spitting them out like venom, viciously letting my loose lips move without regret or forethought and oh, did he ever do the same. My Ex and I did everything we could to destroy each other, and we almost did. That relationship taught me, taught the Girl before Me, the new me, that I deserved to be with a boy who values me, and to make sure I appreciate that boy, or I should simply choose to be single. 

So, I just went on my first Northern, BC snowboard trip with the Hunter and a few of his people. It was amazing and I was exhausted. We drank hard and he pushed me hard (he keeps me wild, remember). But somehow I managed to keep up with the boys and had a great time doing it, and so they agreed that the Hunter can keep me. I was feeling pretty confident that weekend. And, like I said, I’m now a pretty confident girl. And then I strutted into the lodge in my board boots and suddenly ran into The Girl Before Me, the Hunter`s Ex. I could hear the Hunter chatting with her family (he loved them allot and I loved him for that) as washed my hands in the girl`s washroom wishing and willing that I had some alcohol on me. I would have given anything for some liquor courage at that moment. I was no longer confident, but I was insecure and second guessing, just like before. I bravely walked out of the washroom, he smiled that smile that I loved him for and asked me if I was ready and I nodded as I made eye contact with The Girl Before Me as we left the lodge. Hours later I sipped the fireball that warmed my insides, and all I could think about was how pretty she was, and how pretty-kind she probably was, too.

 

And I suppose that’s where it all comes from. I’m not brave, I’m just blessed to realize how far I’ve come. I learned from my past, from The Girl before me, who I used to be. I’m not sure the person I knew back in 2011 would recognize who I am today, but I’m fairly confident, The Girl Before Me would be very happy with this new version. I know what being unhappy with life feels like, and I never want to feel like that again. So, I make decisions and take calculated risks to keep finding this happiness, be it in a job, boy or life in general. And perhaps that should be the disclaimer of whole dang blog. I still have bad days, where I have had a solid screaming match with the Hunter (It’s been our first one yet) due to sheer exhaustion after a day of boarding, and then continued to back my car in a snow bank because I refused to apologize or ask him for help. I’m still not trying to include my Dad in this new life of mine, when I don’t approve of his life choices and he doesn't understand mine – I’m quite sure he would be just fine if I remained as The Girl Before Me. So, talk we do not.  I regularly wear my extra nice clothes to work when I know it’s going to be a rough day – if I’m going get fired, I’ll be damned if I look like a corporate girl receiving that pink slip.

Bold as I may be, I’m not nearly as brave as you think I am. I’m just trying to live hard.

Truthfully,

 A Calamity Kirstin Disclaimer

 We are our choices.

*It’s taken wine to press the publish button on this post. Yep, it’s like 4:00PM

**I referred to the Hunter as my boyfriend for the first time ever yesterday, to my landlord’s son.

The friends we keep.

We stumbled up the steps on my East Coast Nurse Friends’ boyfriends’ place for a potluck dinner. I had just finished my third heaping of authentic Linguine Alfredo made by one of the transients during in my seven month stint living in Golden, BC. I was wine drunk and it was the first and last time I ever tried pot cookies. I remember snuggling up next to my Nurse Friend (obviously the cookies kicked in) and lovingly petting her fabulously red hair thinking how awesome my freakin’ life was. It was a Tuesday night for Christ sake. Routinely, my Saturdays were spent cross country skiing, my Sundays dedicated boarding, between sipping cesars on the hill, courtesy of  free lift tickets (the bonus of dating a ski bum for a season) and I was getting regularly wine drunk with my two Nurse Friend besties. If that isn’t happiness, I’m not sure what is. 

I have left my heart in so many places: I’ve created friendships’ all over the world, and those two girls are one of the many examples. Without hesitation, I can tell you that family has nothing to do with blood and more with the people we choose, the friends we keep. I love my sisters and my spit-fire soul wouldn’t be nearly as bold, not to mention I would most likely still be in Cambodia sans passport, had I not have those two, and my Mom, in my life. For better or for worst, I’ll stand behind them in whatever life choice they make and they’d do the same. And we fight hard, too. But I also know that I would fight for and hide bodies with specific people who I’ve met by chance rather than by relation. Let’s just face it, you can’t volunteer in the Jungle together for eight weeks (and meet on three different continents) and not consider them one of your people. You meet your family in the strangest of ways – and many of my girls seem to be working at one particular male dominated organization. You soul tends to come back to those who make you feel most at home and it seems my soul is happiest with those girls who I found through Collective Agreement meetings, proximity of offices and by job sharing. And then there’s those people you always make time for and they’re always able to plan around your schedule (and re-plan when you change your plans. Again), during your quick and dirty trips back to Calgary, back to those enjoyable parts of your old life.

I also finally understand that friendships aren’t always 50/50, and sometimes the effort shifts at different duration of the relationship because, hey, life happens and priorities are ever changing. I have only very recently learned that sometimes those close friendships need to come to an end, which is hard to admit and even more difficult allow to happen. It’s some kind of karma that, for me, heartache has never been more real than it has realizing when my close girlfriend isn’t really invested in my life anymore.  As on friend admitted, nothing is more shocking than realizing a good friend was actually kind of a crappy friend. 

But then your mutual friend force-friends you with one of her friends, or the Hunter introduces you to his people and it’s you once again realize that there’s no shortage of love in your life, because after all, regardless of where you live, once a Bushbabe always a Bushbabe.

So, I guess this is my breakup post - It’s for those select friends who are slowly becoming acquaintances that I’ve been thinking about allot lately. I’m left with those stores about the good ol’ wine infused days on Kicking Horse Mountain, when those memories come flooding back whene I come across Copper Moon Wine as I’m searching for a BC Bottle to take to a dinner to create those new memories.

Truthfully,

Kirstin

Find your people and love them hard.