Category: life


This morning, the instructor of my rec class started talking about the inspiration of the word “yet.” Rather than simply saying “I can’t do this,” she suggested we add “yet.” That it was always achievable, and “yet” made you focus on a future where you had succeeded.

This afternoon, as I return from a single-person sized grocery trip and contemplate a week of dinners for one, I wonder about “yet.” I think if you ask my friends, they would tell you that I haven’t met someone yet. If you ask me, I would just shake my head and ask “When?”

Yet doesn’t offer much hope for me right now, yet doesn’t seem terribly promising. I think I’ve lost faith, after so many years of non-relationships, bad dating, and all of these “not yets.” I don’t have a date for a wedding, yet. I don’t have someone to make me breakfast, yet. These not yets include weekend trips, trips to farmer’s markets and dinner parties as much as they include shared apartments, weddings, and children, someday.

The dictionary says that the nearest antonym to yet is “never.” I don’t think I’m at “never”, yet, but I’m certainly getting closer. “When?” might be a good question to ask the world at this point.


The soft falling snow turned that moment into any moment - muffling the trappings of the present. Masking the pavement, covering 2013 in a blanket of white. A clean slate. It could be 1920 or 1830. It could be any moment in all of time. The time traveller enters the snow storm.

The snow flakes are soft and thick. Halfway through my thirty minute walk my coat, scarf, hat are white. My cheeks are rosy and wet. My eyelashes are laced with snowflakes, their presence softens the lights of the city, halos the streetlights and blurs the lines. It is brisk but not cold, my scarf and hat keep me insulated enough to feel the warmth of a fast walk on uneven ground.

The streets are quiet - muted by the snow, and emptier than usual for the same reason. There’s something about this snowfall that makes strangers smile at each other. Makes me sing under my breath as I walk. Makes me laugh when I arrive, covered from head to toe in snow, to meet him outside the restaurant. When I look up at him, through wet eyelashes, I can see he feels it to - the grace of this snowy night. I can see, for a moment, how he sees me - rosy, shiny, my eyes full of the delight of a perfect January night. I can see his feelings for me, brimming in his eyes. Blurred, haloed, softened.


If I packed a suitcase for a journey to the end of the world, what would I bring? A toothbrush. Hand cream. My favourite sweater. Clean underwear. Then I would fill the rest with books. I would take worlds with me - realms of knights and dragons, realities of broken hearts. Laughter, tears, aching sadness, and unrestrained joy.

Books are the cornerstones of my life, marked and measurable. They shape and mould my past, present, and future. Contain it, but also set it free.

It’s difficult to find the words to describe the power of words.

Some of my favourite moments have passed inside pages. Somehow, in the pages of a book, I have always found meaning, found purpose.

It suddenly saddens me to the think that the books that decorate my life are intangible. In the past year, almost all the books I’ve read have been electronic. There’s nothing to touch of my 2013 favourites. When I think about this, I wonder if I’m missing those cornerstones now, forever.

I think I need to buy more books, to fill more space in my apartment and in my heart.

Back to the streets I know will never take me anywhere but here…

All this time lingers, undefined.
Someone choose who’s left and who’s leaving.
Memory will rust and erode into lists of all that you gave me:
a blanket, some matches, this pain in my chest,
the best parts of Lonely, duct-tape and soldered wires,
new words for old desires,
and every birthday card I threw away.
I wait in 4/4 time,
Count yellow highway lines that you’re relying on to lead you home.

I used to leave first, and now I’m left. I used to go first, and now I’m behind.

When did the most exciting thing to look forward to become something that is not exciting at all? Where is the adventure?

I know that I have to grow older and wiser, that I need to be an adult. But I would very much like to run away on an adventure right now. And not look back.


When paddling a canoe with three people, a certain synchronization and rhythm is required. You fall rather seamlessly into a pattern, match your pace with another. A wordless synchronization of bodies, of breath, of thoughts. And I felt present, for the first time in weeks. Knew the moment for what it was, as the breeze kissed my sun-warmed skin, over the quiet dip of a paddle. A moment of synchronicity.

There are moments when we feel more connected, more in sync, than others. Days or hours or minutes in which we remember finding meaning, however briefly. Moments which tie themselves into my life, slip knot, sailor’s, or noose. And you can see the ropes, the strings that bind them together. You can see it as surely as the sun that glitters on the water. You can feel is as surely as the crick in your neck, the sunburn on your legs. You can capture is as easily as the stars that float on the surface of a lake, or the fire that chases the sun behind the clouds.