Twiterpated

A surprised dinner invite leads to some lovely egg free cookies, mediocre salad and a boy. A local boy. And suddenly it’s an evening where silly comments and sassy remarks lead into interesting travel dialogue. I find myself being more engaged in conversations about bungee jumping and Europe, where I’m asking questions like darts, throwing one after another, after another. Our common ground grows from movie references to lifestyles and suddenly he’s making fun of himself and his single status, gallantly opening up the floor and telling me to go on, go ahead and make the exchange.

But I don’t. I hug the girls goodbye, wave at this dreamy character and drive away, because on my laptop, I’ve three job postings in New Brunswick that I would quite simply be perfect for once my contract ends. These jobs aren’t necessarily intrinsically rewarding, but they relate to my degree, the qualifications are those that I hold, and they will certainly pay the bills. If the position can’t provide me with feelings that I’m contributing to society in some way or another, at least it can be in a location where I’ve always wanted to live. 

I guess the question that’s been circling in my mind is that if I get a position that matches my end date at my current job, do I put off traveling for yet another year to live where I’ve always wanted to live? I’m financially set to travel (finally!), which I can always set aside, as I’ve done before and I know with my current single status I could leave the East Coast at any time, with few ties and seize the opportunities of foreign culture, love and cuisine.  

I’ve also full circled, which rarely happens in my gypsy way of life. My routine has become noticeably standard at times quite blasé, it feels as though the loose dirt has become quite packed in. So these are the ideas that I’ve been tossing around for potential one-year-plans seeing as my contract is coming up rather quickly. I’ve packed up my big bad duffle bag and sorted through my clothing empire and determined what will be needed for the next six months of living. Six Months, I keep telling myself. Six months, which will go by quickly, with training for a run and planning for some travels.

So hug the girls goodbye and drive away, without an exchange of numbers because I need a sign. This dreamy character wasn’t included in my six months nor my one-year-plan, because what happens when I invite this boy into my life and he changes my plans? What if I don’t want to go to Asia after all? I suppose I need more than a number; I need a sign. And yet, that dinner was the first time in a long time that I’ve had such easy, interesting conversation and the first time ever that I’ve experienced such being so twiterpated. 

-K

Because if you want to fly you have to give up everything that holds you down.

The mentor and the judge.

There are a number of people I genuinely respect and admire. I would go as far to say that they help shape and create my bold disposition. Simply said, I am who I am, because they are who they are.

Some random and notable figures, are, in no particular order:

My ex’s sister who was smart, pretty and nice. It is still one of the hardest things to do: sever ties with your ex-partners family. I really look up to an old SMART colleague. She was amazing at what she did and had this no-bullshit attitude. I hope to find a job where I emit as much passion towards it, as she did her job, every single day. There’s also this girl, whom I respect of so much. 

I also met a charismatic and carefree girl during my travels. She told me she was surprised, being that I was a Feminist, that I did had Brazilian wax (a casual conversation, no less) as it conformed to the desire of men wanting young girls. I was more surprised that she referred to me as a Feminist than the theory, which made sense, too. She taught me so much more than this, but we went our separate ways quite harshly as I, as my sister and I like to say, went to Peru and came back a whore (another story, another time). She wasn’t at all supportive of this decision either. Still, I really admire her charismatic and carefree personality.

There’s also a current colleague who is enduring a family illnesses, while at the same time providing for her family. In addition, she is continuing to kick ass at her job (in a male dominated environment) and is still lovely enough to bring me coffee in the morning. I’m not sure where she gets her strength from, but I’m simply baffled. I’m lucky to have find such a strong woman mentor in my life.

These are only a small sample or my large collection of the people whom have helped shape my life, and not to be cheesy, but have provided me strength when mine ran out, and supported me in ways they and I could never imagine.

I suppose, with all the admiration that goes towards my mentors, admittedly, I judge people. I judge their decision to ‘cave in’ and buy a house rather than travel like they said they’d do. I judge their choice of boyfriend. Hell, I judge their groceries at the checkout line when someone’s opted for ice cream rather than lettuce: I’m a Judgy-McJudgerson. 

With those people I adore, I find it’s because some aspect of their personality or something from their life inspires me to be a better person, a better me. But those people I judge, those people I frown upon, I critique their life choice because I can’t fathom why they would make such a stupid decision, but mostly, I guess it’s because I’m worried that I could have made that very same decision, which would have been horrible mistake for me. Key point: me. I was so busy critiquing my truly dear friend’s decision to buy a new car when my sister clearly pointed out that she is investing her money in something she deems necessary. That comment was like smack upside the head. It made me realize that although these life choices would wipe out my lifestyle, it doesn’t mean I have to be goddamn judgy and hard on other people’s life choices and maybe I can learn something. And perhaps I could show a little goddamn respect. So, I’ve been trying to do that: show a little goddamn respect.

Kirstin

When you throw dirt you loose ground.

That Sense of Belonging

I can't see myself staying for more than two years, five at most;
living in Canada isn't required either. I’m not sure what happened to my roots and, truth be told, lately I’ve been thinking that physically and mentally I don’t believe I really belong anywhere.

As I rule, I have one tote bin I trudge with me from house to house that I fill with cherished possessions that come with no value to anyone but me. Each of these items scream 'Kirstin!' and have a story attached to it. I’ve been wrapping that speckle coloured vase in my well-loved scarves since even before I left my hometown. I also have an old barn wood picture frame containing a freshly captured memory from the previous summer, of my three favorite Bushbabes. I don’t have a modern day chesterfield that comes on The Move, but I do have a spoon used specifically for my coffee each morning and can’t bear to part with it.

I’ve almost completed that Adulting task that I’ve promised myself I would perform before I began to allow myself to look into plane tickets and the more serious details of my next adventure.  From this accomplishment, I’m going through my book collection and trying to sort out those meant for the reused shed, and those that will go back to live at my moms and join the considerable amount of books already residing there. I’ll see my mom in April and so I’ll send with her a duffelbag full of Big Girl clothes and those damn books that I just can’t seem to part with.

In Canada, I haven’t met that many people who share my nomadic lifestyle; I do love visiting my sisters and a close girlfriend, who have a lovely family life. It’s almost as though I get to play dress up for an evening or weekend when I’m invited over. I get to pet their dogs and chase around their kids, while sipping on tried and true wine that we drink during and after the planned out meal. This noise and busyness, the full house and even the associated chores pertain some of my favorite moments. There are the few occasions that I find myself aching for my own home such as this, with the chesterfield and multiple tote bins and maybe even a little less trudging around.  But I’ve realized that perhaps what I’m really seeking is some sort of common ground. I want to find other people who invest in plane tickets rather than wallpaper and who ask for presents that will only fit in their backpack, not their closet. I take refuge in a collection of memoirs and short stories, which, when I began to realize I wanted and needed this gypsy lifestyle, the pages of these books is where I found those other people who inhabited my standard of living. When I read about female writers hiking the Camino Del Santiago or experiencing the West Coast Trail I can’t help feel that these girls know exactly what wand and need. My soul feels happiness when I’m plowing through the memoir of a Female Nomad or when I read Elizabeth Gilbert's account on going to a meditation retreat in India soon after she disposes her nuclear lifestyle. I have this fierce urge to go to a foreign country and focus solely on my Yoga Practice as the author Yoga Bitch can surely relate to. Right now, my favorite book is Wild.

When I mentioned to my dear friend that I may have to move, yet again, she told me that she talked about it to her Partner (she hates that terms about as much as I love it) and I am welcome to move into the spare bedroom. I was very surprised by such kindness. To me it was not only an invitation to be a part of her family’s life, but to be a part of her family, even if it’s for only a little while. When I insist on paying my sister for cleaning my house each and every time I move, she sternly promises me (as only Megan could) that it’s not necessary, and when I come back from my travels Hugo and I will have a place to live, should I need it, and it’s not because I watch my Niece or pay her to clean, but because I’m her sister and she is my family. Both sisters have said this.

From a lifestyle perspective I can enjoy playing dress up and trying on a role in their household and both my sisters and my girlfriend are curious about all of my one-year plans and can appreciate my flightiness. We may not share the same desires out of life, but this kindness provides a new understanding on what belonging means.

Kindly,

Kirstin

If you don't see the book on the shelf that you want, write it [the same goes with your life].- Beverly Cearly