As I mentioned in a previous post, there's nothing like winter to make you hunker down and just be with what is. Having survived the Ice Storm of '13 (not so bad for me, I'm a snow-belt girl) and the Polar Vortex (hardly a show-stopper in Canada), I'm still much more stunned by the emotional aspects of winter. Vast expanses of glistening ice coating thousands of cat-tails; stark contrasts of white snow against dingy brown grass, seem to highlight the sense of distance from summer, and from places you'd like to go, like home. But they also command attention to the simple beauty of what exists in front of your nose. Freshly baked ginger cookies, visiting friends at home, faces flushed with cold and laughter.
But then, you also have that January urge to re-create your entire world, or at least, improve upon it. For me, January has called me to begin my work as Communications Chair at my church. So far, I am managing the communications (web and print) for a fundraising event in May, and have some other responsibilities coming up. It's been awesome to finally have something to work on, and feel the sense of contribution I've been missing. Last week I met the committee in person, and put in about 2 hours/day on a project.
While it's great to have a sense of routine, I've been feeling a little burnt out on all the newness I've created. After all, I've already had several fresh starts in my life, and moving Toronto wasn't the smallest of them. In addition to adjusting to metropolitan, car-less living, and meeting new people, I also decided to throw in a career change. True to form, I assumed that switching to the Communications field would be easy, since I have a degree in English and some related experience. But as it turns out, and as I should have known, any career change can feel like biting off more than you can chew. That's why I'm keeping my mind open to ways that I can integrate mental health, writing, and teaching into a career that will make sense for me.
When I came to Toronto, I had this feeling that somehow all the various strands of my life would weave together into a cohesive whole. In fact I hoped they would - because looking back, I've lived so many places, and had so many jobs, and I finally wanted to settle down. I didn't really feel a need to re-invent myself, but rather to be who I'd been all along. Instead of going into the "great unknown", I wanted to dig deeper, and unearth a career/life that would fit me perfectly, maybe even permanently. Fortunately, I've had this break from work, and a cozy little sanctuary that is our apartment, looking out over Toronto. So even though I get homesick and stir-crazy, I've taken time to weave the seemingly disparate strands together into a life. I've been writing, looking through photos, going over the colors and textures of the past for clues to the future.
In my post
Adventures in Renaissance Personhood, I listed all the jobs I'd had and courses I'd ever taken. Many times I've looked back at my life and thought it was pretty disjointed. I sort of beat myself up for being the kind of person who's had the privilege to explore anything, but rarely followed through. I sometimes think, well, even if I choose a new direction, how do I know it will last? But the thing I realized, is that the directions I've taken were not random. From massotherapy to music, they were all ways of answering questions I had - about myself, about the world. And now, looking through those memories and experiences, I have my answers. It's my own personal treasure trove of wisdom. My one wild and precious life.
So in the deep cold of winter, in the disorienting plunge into the New, what holds you together? For me, it's playing my old songs, writing my little memoir of my 20's, and tying my knowledge of mental health in with the exciting field of neurobiology, which is answering some of the questions I've had since grad school. It's letting go of some "New Year's resolutions" that feel overwhelming (bye bye, French dictionary) and sticking firmly to the ones that help (yoga EVERY DAY - no really!). When things change we tell ourselves stories about what change should look like, how fast, and in what direction. But there's no sense pretending that anybody but me should write my own story - because after all, I'm the one with the pen.
