Tag Archives: Writing

It’s Like Riding a Bike…

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It was fuscia. 18 speeds. Every afternoon on my walk home from school, I would pretend I wanted to flip through the mixed tapes in the Radio Shack upstairs. But, on my way past, I would glance quickly to the right to make sure it still stood there, lodged between its counterparts, waiting for me to save up enough babysitting money to load it into the back of my Dad’s pickup truck and give it the home it deserved.

I can’t remember the day I brought it home and I don’t think I ever learned to use more than 4 of the 18 speeds, but how I loved that bike. In the days long before helmets became a necessity, my sister and I would fly down the gravel dirt road outside our house; chests heaving and the wind in our tangled hair as we chased the early evening light.

I don’t remember when our love affair (mine and the fuscia bike’s) ended, but it could have been around the time I learned to drive. One spring, the bike never made it out of its winter hibernation and stayed lodged between the shed’s spare tires, fishing tackle boxes, and pungent red gasoline containers. I’m sure it collected dust, along with some rust before it eventually landed in the re-use shed beside the local landfill. Continue reading →

Do You Want the Millions or Do You Want The Work?

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Are you at at your desk, prepping for an upcoming meeting and sifting through a backlog of emails? Or, are you reading this on your laptop at home, feet up on the coffee table, relieved that the kids have finally gone to sleep?

I’m at a rickety wooden table inside a brick coffee shop. Couches and chairs of every shape and colour litter the room and art students from the local university sketch or talk architecture at the tables beside me. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the smell of musty, carted down from the attic furniture. I love it here.

My favourite part about writing from the road is having you with me. So, what would you like to hear about? I could re-cap this morning’s historic walking tour of Savannah or describe last night’s dinner at the Olde Pink House restaurant (circa 1771) where I sampled cheese grits and collard greens for the first time. But, if you have read Friday’s post: Living on a Dream…Care to Join Me, you probably want me to get to the point. Continue reading →

Stop Hovering and Just Sit Down…

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Have you ever found yourself hovering over the toilet, your calf muscles vibrating? Not because you are in dirty public bathroom and you think the flimsy toilet seat covers are a joke, but because you can’t possibly take the time to sit down and have a proper pee.

Instead of relaxing for two minutes on the clean (we hope) throne in your bathroom and browsing through a magazine, you do a mental sweep of all of the things you need to get done, within the next five minutes, and what a hassle it is to take a break to pee.

There is the email you need to write to your friend who has just gone through a nasty break-up, a presentation to prepare for to prove you are the perfect employee, dogs to walk, kids to feed, marathons to train for, yoga postures to master, french pronouns to perfect, diapers to change, blogs to follow, trips to plan, books to write…I could go on, but I think you get the picture.

This morning, in the middle of re-prioritizing my gigantic to-do list, I see her. She’s watching me hover, like a dog over a patch of grass. Every time I think I have evolved into a more zen-like, live in the moment kind of girl, Gertrude resurfaces. She rips the duct tape from her mouth, puts one hand on her jutted out hip, and takes a drag from the cigarette lodged between her yellowed teeth while her steely grey eyes give me an unimpressed once-over. Continue reading →

‘Just Do It’

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The baristas call out drink orders loudly enough to be heard over the din of idle chatter and a jazz version of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. I tune into the lyrics and my eyes fill. Where is my somewhere over the rainbow and how can I get there? From my perch by the window, I can hear the car tires kicking up rain and I watch the spring downpour pummel a handful of committed runners.

I am achingly glad to have escaped the four walls of my apartment. I watch in wonder as people scurry to complete tasks on overcrowded to-do lists. I have no one to meet, no one to take care of, and nothing to accomplish. I feel equal parts relief and desolation. Grateful that I have the time and space to recover from the trauma of chemo and my recent double mastectomy but lost because my days do not have structure or purpose.

For the last couple of months, I have felt afraid and empty. I have wanted someone or something to fill me up with joy, hope, and love. But, I am slowly realizing that no one else can do that for me. Maybe it’s time I went on a trip mentally, physically, and spiritually?

As I had this thought, I felt a small glimmer of light slice through my heavy heart. Maybe I could go somewhere amazing and remind myself that the world is full of beautiful places and people? Maybe I could spend time healing my bruised up body and soul and focus on writing my story?

Now before you jump to the conclusion that I am trying to write the next ‘Eat, Pray, Love’, let me assure you that my trip will not include any pasta (I’m gluten intolerant), any meditating at an Ashram in India (it sounds amazing in theory, but at this point I don’t have the mental or physical stamina to attempt it), or any risk of falling in love with a Brazilian (for a variety of reasons, I don’t think a fairy tale ending is what I need).

What I did need on that May afternoon in Starbucks was something to look forward to; an adventure to call my own. A chance to prove to myself that cancer could not take away my desire to fully experience life.

View from the City Walls of Piran

So, the day has finally arrived. I am taking the red eye to London tonight. Over the next 3 ½ weeks I plan to peruse the galleries of London, stroll through the old city of Dubrovnik, see the wonders of the Dalmatian Coast via ferry on my way to the island of Hvar, rent a car and drive up the coast to Piran, sip wine at a café in Ljubljana (apparently it’s the next, next Prague), and then hop on a plane and finish my adventure amidst the mosques of Istanbul.

Is this trip the responsible thing to do? Can I afford it? Probably not. But, my heart is pounding with excitement instead of fear, which is a nice change of pace.

I have played the responsible card all of my life and luckily have some money squirreled away for a rainy day. Given that the last year has been the rainiest of my life (figuratively and sometimes literally speaking), I am going to grab this opportunity with both hands and in the famous words of Nike ‘just do it’.

I hope you’ll join me. Given that my only traveling companion in Croatia, Slovenia, and Turkey will be my laptop, I should have plenty of time to write.