The Great Thaw of 2014

I believe it was this past weekend, the weekend of May 2-4, that I was walking home from the subway station and the wind on that bridge over Highway 401 felt like it was trying to bore through my brain. I put my hand over my left ear because I was actually worried about my eardrum freezing. This prompted me to indulge in one of my occasional fits of swearing at the weather (we all do it, come on), followed by a couple choice words like "Come on Toronto, let's get with the program!!!"

But this post isn't about the weather. It's about the thawing of my O-Canadian life. On February 14, I got my Permanent Resident Visa papers in the mail. After a quick trip to Buffalo on the 22nd, I now have the right to work, drive and receive government healthcare in Canada. Of course, in immigration-time, "now" means in 6-10 weeks, but hey, it's still pretty awesome. I've made some big decisions about my career, including giving up the idea of working in the Communications Field. I'm now fully committed to my original and strongest passion, helping people along paths of mental, emotional and spiritual growth. And I've been practicing mindfulness with quite a bit more dedication, which is opening up worlds of inner resources that I'm excited to share with the world. You can read about these at my other blog, Pointing at the Moon.


Oddly, the more I become used to life in Canada, the less I have to say about it. Perhaps that's not surprising. I'm less like a fish out of water here, and more like, well, a fish... in water? You know what I mean. I'm less interested in what's different about Canada, and more interested in creating my life here. The past year has given me ample time to look over the past, land in the present, and prepare for the future. Along with doing lots of yoga and making friends with awesome people, I've also written some memoir, some of which I may post here. I'd particularly like to tell the stories of my time on the U.S. West Coast, and the 6 weeks of traveling the U.S. that brought me to California in 2002. Though I would often silently curse my travel companion, John, for keeping me so long away from regular hot showers and kitchen luxuries, he was right: It was the trip of a lifetime. And since I don't have kids, I need someone to tell it to! (hint, hint)

For now, adieu; I wander off into the land of pseudo-bilingualism, borderline Americanism, and quirky national traditions like "bacon" and "tuques". A land where Catholicism is still part of public school, where the lakes hold more water than any other place in the world; and where indigenous people fight not-so-distant battles for responsible oil production, collective health and environmental sanity. A city where I feel completely at home, no thanks to the slow transit system or 60-story condos, but thanks to people, and the spaces of love and community they create.

The past is a country you can never return to

I'm officially Canadian!! - well, actually, I'm a Permanent Resident, but that's pretty good. It that means within weeks I can drive, receive healthcare, and work in Canada. And in a couple years, I can become a citizen, too. Valentine's Day I got the letter marking the end of an 11-month phase of waiting, dreaming, resting, and establishing myself as a wife, community member, and Torontonian. Now, I'll be able to complete the final chapter of my life here, which is finding a job.  I'm super excited to start making money again, to plan our honeymoon, and do simple stuff like go out to eat more and really experience Toronto, this amazing city.

Perhaps it was the finality of it which brought on my sharp stab of homesickness today. Or perhaps it's that a new year is beginning, and moving into the future requires leaving something else behind. I'd been homesick before, but I wasn't prepared for the loss of a certain kind of closeness that comes when you live in the same towns, frequent the same restaurants and stores, and know the same people as your friends. Being in a person's home and just sipping tea or watching TV is a superb way of getting to know who they are, and what life is like for them. This level of closeness feels lost, particularly with my parents. I can't just pop over anymore. And that's really tough.

There's another level, too - that even if I were to move back home someday, it wouldn't be the same as what I left behind. When you live somewhere continuously, sure, everyone changes, but it's slow and you almost don't notice it. But when you leave and ocme back - as I've already done - the return is never quite what you expected. Businesses have closed, new ones have opened (Kent, I'm talkin' to you), people have moved on or started new phases of their lives, like having kids or going back to school. The "scene" you miss isn't the same scene, and there's no way of catching up, because, well, you weren't there. So there's really no going back, and no place to be except the present.

Also, I've changed. I think about my aunt, who moved to Colorado with her husband, lived there for 15 years, and then moved to Los Angeles. She keeps in touch with the family, but the fact is that her life is kind of a mystery to us. She belongs to another world, and now, so do I.

Sean has always told me that I'm a "country girl" at heart. I chuckle at that, since it's based on his rosy view of Ohio as the "country." But in fact, I'm from Northeast Ohio, which is kind of better: I'm from world-class schools, post-industrial economic rebirth, corn on the cob, and the Burning River. A corner of Ohio that's just as sophisticated as it is relaxing. And I love that. So I don't mind Sean calling me a country girl - he's never forgotten that I came from Ohio, and maybe that will help me remember who I am.

Isn't there some kind of saying - "you can't take the country out of a country girl...?" Yeah... that seems true. When you're getting used to something, it can seem to consume your entire identity, but there comes a point when you remember who you were before. I may be a Toronto girl now - knowing how to find the best food, the best museums, how to ride the subway without losing my balance - but I'll always be a girl who shopped at Beckwiths Orchard and hopped around sandstone cliffs at Kendall Ledges. I'll always know how to shuck corn into a paper bag, how to find a great sweater at the VD, and how to smalltalk with the folks back home. And I can count on them welcoming me back, and doing what they can to make me feel at home. I think I can count on that.

Sometimes when I feel homesick I go to my suitcase and get out the little stash of American money I keep, leftover from the last trip. It's the pennies that get me - we don't have pennies here, so  when I hold a penny, it's like a piece of America in my hand. Of course, holding American money also makes me think about our national debt, our problems with consumerism and all the stuff that makes me ambivalent about being American - but damn, I miss the States. Not because I think it's the greatest country in the world (though it is great, in many ways), but because it's my home. In a way my American money is like the past, as it's really only a symbol for something else. You can't eat money, and you can never return to the past. I can only try to be in the present, and realize that the legs that climbed on redwoods and waded in Blue Hen Falls, are the same legs that can ride the TTC subway without stumbling. I've been shaped and molded by so many places, so many relationships, and yet, I'm still myself.

Being apart from my family is sometimes like having a limb cut off. Sorry to be gross, but they're part of me, because throughout my life, they shaped and molded me like clay. As teenagers, we resent our families for that - but if you wants to get over that, I'd suggest moving away. Move to a place where you can't come home, and then repeat that, until you realize - wow, they're not trying to mold me - it just happens. And it's time that I choose to mold my own life - to choose who I am, what I do, who I hang out  with, and above all, what is home. Being away from them, I realize how lucky I am to have the option to come home - to come home for fresh corn, leaf-raking, coffee on the porch - for what keeps me feeling like me, as I move into this new country, into the present.

Cold Plunge: Anchoring in the New

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.

Mission: Jobsearch

The month of October has been a busy one on the profession-searching front. First, I found out from Service Canada that I am not only allowed to volunteer while here, but I can also apply for jobs. And if I get a job offer before I get my visa, then the employer can sponsor me for a Temporary Foreign Worker work permit. This puts me in a position of readiness to at least start putting myself out there.

Immediately, I found two volunteer positions I was interested in. They were both writing positions for environmental organizations - Evergreen Brickworks and Permaculture GTA. But, as is my custom when I’m not entirely sure of something, I hesitated. In the meantime I was quite busy with recording a demo CD for some musicians I’m working with using borrowed equipment. The duress of recording under deadline got my workaday nervous system back online, and it felt good. Having completed the demo, I turned back to my job search. I spent two-and-a-half days on my resume, filling in my experiences in college as editor and production manager of a magazine, and emphasizing the media-related tasks in my other jobs. I realized that the parts I enjoyed about every job were as follows: designing curriculum, teaching, designing, and writing. Given that my design skills are stuck in 2001 (we used Quark Xpress and MultiAd Creator), I realized that Communications is probably the best field for me. With my English degree and plethora of experiences teaching, creating handouts and flyers for various settings, and generally being a good communicator, it wouldn’t require much extra training. So, I returned to the job hunt.

After some easy searching, I applied for 3 jobs in communication: two for the non-profit sector and one for a professional HR association. I feel really good about the nonprofits – one is a mental health research facility, and the other is Ronald McDonald House. I’m still looking for more, particularly in the environmental or mental health fields. It feels like a perfect match for me to use my communications skills to help the common good.

Strangely, all my life I’ve been encouraged to be in the spotlight, particularly as a teacher and singer. I suppose I’m ambivalent about it: part of me likes the attention, while part of me feels overwhelmed by it. The health problems I’ve developed in recent years have put more of a damper on my ability to be “on”, both as a musical performer and as a counselor, where presence is the penultimate requirement. Although I’m not entirely pleased about it, I’m surrendering to my body’s wisdom for the moment by taking some downtime. Being in the spotlight has always been a bit much for me, so maybe it’s not the best way for me to work. After all, I’ve always enjoyed getting things organized behind-the-scenes: planning my lessons, making flyers (ooooh!) and tinkering with my song lyrics are a lot more fun for me. So for now, I’m envisioning myself in a job where I get to spend more time on that stuff. And if I crave attention, I can always find an open mic night.

In May, just before moving here, I met up with my friend Sharon, who was occupying a 100-year-old ash tree about to be cut down to make room for bar parking. As we discussed our respective senses of purpose, I told her I wanted to help causes like hers be represented well in the world. Few things break my heart more than good people being misunderstood because of a poorly-crafted message, stereotype, or sheer lack of information. Now, all of those thoughts seem to be collecting themselves into a mission statement, which looks a lot more like a job.

This is It, Folks.

The cold snap we’ve experienced these past few days, with temperatures dropping into hat-and-gloves weather, has had three effects on me:

• I have an incredible craving for cheesecake
• I’ve gotten a bit depressed and existential
• I’ve realized that where I am is where I’ll stay for the next while – so it’s time to hunker down and get comfortable.

The first two are predictable, but the third is a bit of a surprise. I live in Canada, folks. By the time the crocuses bloom again, I will quite probably be a Canadian Resident, which is a few cents shy of a citizen. That means I’ll be working, socializing, and making my home in a foreign country.

Crazy!!!

Of course, I’m responding with all my typical practical wherewithal, by making lists of small items we need to make the apartment comfortable. I’ve planned a final trip to Ohio to bring over the rest of the books and things I’ll want for the winter. But the real adjustment is emotional: This is it, folks. For real. I’m practically Canadian.

I’ve been here since June, soaking in Canadian TV, Canadian radio, Canadian comedy (it’s kind of different, let me tell you), and somehow, I’m getting used to it. It doesn’t help that I keep saying “eh” in various grammatical/semantic contexts.  Or that I don’t even notice the weatherwoman’s Scottish accent anymore. I didn’t even get mad when I had to pay $6 for a birthday card last week! But thankfully I still have a bit of my American-ness. I think it is crazy how polite Canadian police are on TV. I still get slightly riled up at the price of cheese. And I still do a double-take when I see someone on TV who has crooked teeth.

But seriously, I know very little about Canada so far. I know it is very, very big, that I live in the most fertile part of it, that we have lots of coal and water, and that Stephen Harper is a bit of a menace. I know Toronto is the most diverse city in the world, the job market is very competitive; I know where to get locally grown food and where to meet with friends. These are salient pieces of information but the whole story isn’t filled in yet. Immigrating to another country, no matter how “similar” to your own, is a big deal. You catch bits and pieces like someone hearing a conversation in another language (metaphorically), but you have to wait months or years before you can have a real give-and-take in that conversation. So far it's felt like an experiment, but the big adjustments are ahead—getting a job, citizenship, and finding a way to participate in Canadian civic life, which I suspect is more complex than Americans like to think. But hopefully the journey will continue to be fun, polite, and ridiculously expensive, eh?       

Adventures in Renaissance Personhood

A few weeks ago Sean brought home a Continuing Education catalogue for me. By the time I was done with it, I had 7 classes tabbed: Sewing, French, Self-Defense, Upholstery repair, InDesign, Kundalini Yoga, Memoir Writing, and Belly Dance. As I ponder the cost of pursuing all these classes, my mind goes to the time and money I’ve already put towards learning. I have degrees, certification and/or training in the following:

• Literature and poetry writing (Bachelor of Arts) 
• Piano performance courses at Kent State
• Yoga Instructor 
• NCBTMB Massage Practitioner Certificate 
• Reiki Level 1
• Mental health counseling 
• Chakra therapy
• Ayurveda

Not to mention experience in the following:

• Physical Therapy Aide
• Piano/violin lesson instructor
• General/choral music instructor
• Barista 
• Bluegrass fiddler 
• Music theater
• Massage therapy, yoga therapy and counseling 
• Songwriting
• Layout and design
• Copy editing and writing

I also have an interest in the following:

• Herbal medicine
• Dance (ballroom/bellydance/contact/ecstatic) 
• Haberdashing
• French translation

So as you see, I’m a Renaissance Woman, and could easily study for the rest of my life. But I’m too snobby, or perhaps embarrassed, to be like my Gen-Y contemporaries with escalating student loan debt. Also, I’m married now, so my financial decisions don’t just impact me. I want to live a life of possibility, and to be able to help others with money. So, I need an income.

My most recent profession as a domestic violence counselor was a bit intense, leading me to consider other options. But what else can I make out of the above interests? I mean, have you heard of any bluegrass fiddler positions lately? I can just imagine the ad:

“Fortune 500 company seeks creative individual to fulfill a variety of functions. Mornings will be spent preparing latte’s and gluten free baked goods, reading top news stories and screening for interesting material. Each day by lunch will produce an essay or song based on current events or entertaining life anecdotes. Bluegrass fiddle playing, interpretive dance and yoga instruction in afternoon. This individual will play an important part in improving the workplace culture and boosting the paradigm shift of 21^st century. Salary commensurate with experience.”

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been told by many that my talents are valuable to society. To be a musician, particularly, seems to be a skill that is envied and treasured close to the American heart. All I’m saying is that these talents won’t land me a stable job with benefits. And no matter how creative I am, I still like to have a paycheck. I like that money coming in every month, so I can know where I'll be in 5, 10 or 20 years -- or for that matter, next month.

Some might say that security is overrated. Massive layoffs in the U.S. since 2008 shook our idea of “stability” to the core, and although things seem to be recovering, no one can be sure. Some have adopted a view that being employed by a company doesn’t grant one security, so one might as well go his own way, as self-employment is no less risky by comparison. For some, this will be much more rewarding and possibly more lucrative than a steady 40-hour job. This may now be an option for me, since I’m living in Canada’s largest city, where freelance writers, yogis and musicians have a better chance to gather enough capital to make a living. My fears about small-town economics and lack of healthcare are no longer relevant here. But do I really want to be self-employed?

The obvious benefit of self-employment, and the most salient here, is: I can make a living by being me. I can be one of what I consider to be modern royalty: those who can do what they love, and make a living of it. What a pinnacle of individualism! I could even make a living… by talking about myself! For example, by writing a blog, or churning out an endless stream of songs about my feelings! Then when I’m about 40, I’ll get very depressed and disappear from the public eye, and later emerge as a member of an esoteric religion!

Oh wait, sorry, I got confused with my journal from 5 years ago. I mean, I could make a living by playing at people’s weddings, writing articles for magazines, and teaching yoga. Maybe even making greeting cards and/or gluten free pastries. Sure, I could do that – but my financial security would always be in question. I will be on call 24-7 to market and represent myself to the public. I will be responsible for my own taxes, accounting, and insurance. I may work 60+hours a week, all so I can say I’m free.

All of these questions would seem so frivolous to people of my parents’ and grandparents’ generation. In the 1940’s and 50’s, the “American Dream” was just to have enough money to buy a house and car. It didn’t matter if you were a gas station attendant or a college professor. By the 70’s, things had changed enough so that my parents, who both worked 9-to-5 jobs, felt a little depressed by the whole thing. By the time I hit adulthood, the “American Dream” had a whole lot more to do with self-realization. Through attending college, you were supposed to “find your bliss” and pursue it for the rest of your life.

Something fell apart for my generation. A large percentage of my friends, though intelligent and skilled people, never found the Dream. We are 28, 30, even nearing 40 and still searching. Some of us never fit into the college track, and since the dignity of blue collar work has fled, they slave away their 40 hours and live in poverty. Those who refuse to work for low wages attempt to learn a trade – massage therapy, fixing cars or painting houses – so they can shore up some dignity, cash, and freedom, while devouring knowledge in their spare time. Some of us keep attending school looking for that one thing that feels right. We all hunger to understand the world, to understand ourselves, and to have a slice of the American Pie.

I'm slightly embarrassed by my generation. Despite having more privilege than any generation past, we have such a hard time applying ourselves and feeling satisfied. What happened? 

Maybe it’s not that work is unfit for us; maybe it’s that we are unfit for work. We’ve come to place individualism over the value of contributing to the whole. We’ve been told that when we find the right job, we’ll be complete. (Incidentally, through all my dozens of jobs, I’ve never found happiness through work. But here, keeping house and doing random creative things, I feel happier than ever.)

Maybe we just expect too much. We believe the perfect job will draw happiness from us like honey from a hive, much like the romantic fantasy of finding “the one”. Like a romance, we want that job to draw out the best in us and provide steady support. But in a romance, there is give and take. And in work, we must work hard if we want to get paid. And so, I’m just realizing, that’s what I’m going to do. Here I am in this pause, so I'm going to work - to write, record songs, learn new skills - and see who comes in for the honey. It might turn into a self-employed situation. Or it might be a hive that I quietly tend while I'm working a nice stable job. I’ll let you know.

Adventures in Public Transportation

My relationship with the TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) is kind of a love-hate one. I’ll be waiting for a “frequent service” (5-10 minute) bus for 20 minutes, ready to rip the driver’s head off, but when I get on the subway, it’s all OK again. The Toronto subway is safe, clean, and efficient. And overall, the staff is polite and helpful, always willing to answer silly questions for visitors or new immigrants such as myself (“Can I go in now? Oh, ok...”). The downside is, navigating public transportation takes up a significant part of my day, sometimes 3 hours, and until recently, a big chunk of brain-space. My first few weeks of riding the subway were full of surprises, map-checks, and mishaps. Here are two of my favorites:

1. The “Bloor Street” incident
It was my first time on the Bloor subway and I was disoriented, and running late. I hadn’t yet figured out how to follow the markings inside the station directing you to either the main street or the cross street. So, I asked another young lady to point me toward Bloor. She said, “oh, for that, I think you need to get back on the subway”. We went back and forth a few times, but she was certain that Bloor St. was nowhere nearby. After commiserating about us both being newcomers, I departed and found Bloor street in about 10 paces.  

2. “Always stay in the system” … but if you don’t, eh, it’s OK.
Riding the subway is kind of a nervous system overload for me. Even though the TTC took great care to make it a self-explanatory process, there has been much to learn –the order of the streets, how and when to obtain a transfer, how to tell which way is West or East when you exit, and where to catch the bus. I’ve slowly learned these basics, but one was taught to me in an embarrassing fashion. I was coming home from one of my first long trips, and I was a little dazed. I exited the subway and walked upstairs to catch the bus, going across a large intersection to the only bus stop in sight. The girl waiting there told me that my bus stopped underground and I would probably have to pay to get back into the “system”. I walked back and started explaining myself to the worker at the booth. I figured I should have a lengthy story in order to prove I wasn’t lying. The worker kept asking, “where did you come from?” I said, “well, I got on the 506 Carlton at College Street, then the subway, and now I’m here.” He just said, “So you came from the subway?” I blinked and said yes… was that all he wanted? “Go ahead,” he waved me through the gate.

My relationship with TTC works because we both value reducing our carbon footprint, and that’s really the glue that holds us together. But, things change, and there may come a day when I must leave the TTC for a fuel-efficient hatchback. The TTC is far from perfect; it’s more expensive and less efficient than people here would like, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle a 90-minute round-trip commute (the minimum for me to get downtown) once I start working. For now, I’m thankful to have a break from the hassles of car ownership, and a spacious enough life to enjoy it.

What to do when you’re unemployed in a foreign city: Part II

It turns out that nobody I know (except maybe a guy in northern Quebec) is unemployed in a foreign land. So I'm going to address the broader question: “what to do when you’re unemployed?” It’s been interesting to catalog people's reactions when they learn that you're about to be unemployed. It’s one of those situations that affects everyone very differently, so the response is usually tactfully generic, like “well, what an opportunity!” Then there are the more revealing comments, like “well that could be kind of fun!” on up to “you should start playing on street corners!” The way people respond reveals how they’d react to being unemployed. Some people would freak out, others would sleep 12 hours a day, and some would just grab their guitar and chase their dream.

I think I fall somewhere in between the dream-chasers and the freak-outers. But give me a modest level of security (like, say, a husband with a job, and a period of being not allowed to work), and the freak-out part mostly goes away. That means that for the first time in my life, I can truly enjoy having lots of time.

It’s not so easy for everyone, of course. The pressure of needing to put food on the table can destroy the buzz for anybody, and if you’re looking toward retirement or other big goals, it’s no party for you either. Those factors aside, though, most Americans have a work ethic that’s constantly buzzing in their ear to “be productive.” The following list can't solve those deeper issues, its' how I've found enjoyment amidst uncertainty. So, here we go:

• Learn about the place where you live. Read history books, go to museums, bike/drive around to local attractions. Be one of those people that tourists can actually get information from. This might feel like a mini-vacation.
•  Make a list of people you’d love to spend time with, and then do it. (It’s amazing how time can slip by!) Grandparents, parents, old friends…. 
•  Write letters. 
•  Learn a skill: I’m considering subscribing to a website that teaches software for business and design. I’m also refining my skills as a yoga practitioner.
• Watch youtube interviews with your favorite musicians/actors: a great way to learn about the creative process. “Speakeasy” and “Inside The Actor’s Studio” are two such shows. 
•  Grow food: While tomatoes from Mexico might be cheap, they cost us in fossil fuels used for transportation. Also, growing/buying local helps keep our cities self-supporting. Not to mention gardening nourishes the tummy and the soul. 
•  Take care of your health: cook really good food, for yourself and others; do those exercises you always think about
• Walk or bike around. We did this all the time as kids; we knew the names of all the parks in the neighborhood. As an adult, it’s fun to look around at other people’s houses/gardens. 
•  Get involved: volunteer, write those letters you always think about writing, sign petitions and get informed on issues you care about
• Play music, Paint (I don’t do the latter, but I know a few ladies who do!) 
•  Read classic novels (what the heck? maybe they’ll make more sense now that I’m a grownup!)

 In addition to doing many of the above, I'm also dealing with adjusting to public transportation (I'll have a few stories about that later), researching job opportunities, and getting used to married life. So I feel quite confident that not only will I be keeping busy, but this free time will probably be over before I know it. My concern is not so much "how will I fill my time," but "how can I make the most of the time?" When I look back on this period, I will surely wish I had slept more or played music more or job-searched more. It's the same feeling everyone has at the end of vacation, isn't it? Sometimes I wonder if the cure to that is more being. That sometimes by always planning and thinking over what we should  accomplish, we miss the spaciousness of the weekend, the vacation, or whatever time we have. Maybe that free space between moments is what we're really looking for.

What to do when you’re unemployed in a foreign city: Part 1

Living in a foreign city, with no real routine, is an interesting situation. Many people come here to start school or a job. I've been there: you arrive, find an apartment, and then it's ready, set, go. The benefit to that is you've got an immediate social group and purpose. The drawback is that you could get so immersed in it that you lack time to explore your new surroundings.  

Personally, I've never lived in a big city or a foreign country, nor had I planned to. I just came to Toronto to be with my husband, understanding that during my visa waiting period, I wouldn't be working. I knew what it was like to move a long distance, since I'd done it before in 2002 (to California) and again in 2005 (to Idaho). I knew I wouldn't have to worry about the language, and I had a sense of the city from my previous visits here. But that was the extent of it. So now I'm just here.

Actually, I'm going to be very honest - this is my dream come true. I've always loved having a blank canvas of time with which to create my days. Although I could, and did thrive on structure as a full-time clinical counselor, there’s something magical about sitting around deciding what to do each day, and then doing it.

I had this blessing two other times in my life – First, I was a college student in Arcata, California. Due to the tight economy in the tiny redwood-coastal town, I got laid off from my job within a couple of months and was unable to find another. I applied for, and received a Pell Grant and was thus able to spend my free time doing yoga, playing guitar, and walking in the woods with friends, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Later in 2009, I was approaching my final semester of grad school, and had gotten a summer job which I had to quit because of the boss’s unbearable moods. Uninspired by the idea of another minimum-wage job, I chose instead to live off of student loans. That summer was the most depressing time I’ve ever had. I couldn’t get motivated to do anything.

I still don’t fully understand why those experiences of unemployment were so different. However, I think at least two factors come in – 1, my need for companionship, and 2, the belief that we are what we do. I think perhaps by the time I reached grad school, I had begun to equate self-worth with being productive.

This all changed once I began a full-time job. At first I felt like huge reserves of energy and efficiency were being released in me. I could achieve so much more than I had previously believed. My self-esteem skyrocketed. Then, naturally, I started to equate my efficiency with who I was – my self-worth, so to speak. Instantly I became miserable, and stayed that way for about a year. Then, in the summer of 2012, I took up a daily yoga practice. Yoga put me in touch with the delight of being again, and I gradually became happier (and more productive) at work. I was able to wind down much more quickly, enjoy my personal life more, and find moments of beauty within the workday. I realized life wasn’t as serious as I thought.

Yet, like so many American workers, we were experiencing budget cuts and more work was being placed on individual employees. I realized that from the get-go I had a workload bigger than I could handle. I realized part of my discontent had to do with a restless mind, which could be cured by yoga, but the rest was just inherent to the job.

The whole experience was a profound awakening for me. Working with battered women and all the crises that ensued, I was constantly drained and this took away from my relationships with my friends and family. It made me realize that nothing is more important in life than family (both biological and “chosen”). When I finally resigned, I felt incredibly blessed to have such a supportive family and the time and energy to be with them. I felt like my priorities would never be the same.

From that viewpoint, I was in a great position to begin married life – a life in which, for now, I'm a “homemaker”. But Sean, being the kind of guy he is, of course doesn’t see me that way. He just sees me as the woman he loves, who happens to cook him dinner most nights. I think secretly he wants me to become a rock star or something. Just write songs all day, then go out there and get discovered. It’s funny how, when you find yourself with a blank canvas, people want to tell you what to paint. It’s like you’re on “The Price is Right” and everyone’s telling you which door to open. “Number One! Number Two!” They just can’t help themselves. I’ve gotten suggestions to open a coffeeshop, to “get all those high-paying city (music) gigs”, and to busk on street corners. I guess part of me is stomping my foot saying, “I’ll pick the damn door I wanna pick, y'all!" The other part just laughs because it’s so obvious that the path will present itself to me. I’m busy in a dialogue with myself about my wants and needs employment-wise. But I am in no way ready to whip out my brush and slap a vision on my blank canvas. Not yet. And this patience, this pause, feels like the perfect place to be.