The longer route

It's ridiculous. Though we live in a time where everything is now available a the click of a button, I find myself wanting to take my time. Or, as the Dixie Chicks would put it, "take the long way around."

 

This week, I eagerly anticipated two items in the mail. No, not e-mail - the traditional one that we call 'snail mail'. A friend from the east-coast told me last week that she'd put a package in the mail for me, and another friend who lives in the North-West Territories mentioned that she'd dropped a letter off as well. 

A few years ago, hearing this would make me anxious. I would probably freak out every day, cursing the mail system for being so slow. But surprisingly, I've found myself enjoying the wait this time around. When I received one of the packages in the mail last night, it came as a surprise. I kind of liked that it had to journey in order to reach me. I liked that I had to physically wait for it's arrival. I liked that I didn't know what it was as soon as my friend sent it... and though I spoke to her between the time the package was sent and I received it, I still didn't know what it was. 

I guess my point is that I enjoy the element of surprise that comes with the traditional mail system. Please don't misunderstand me - you can still get that with e-mail and messages via social-networking mediums, but it's definitely not the same. And I realized how much I missed it. 

- - - - 

I was also talking to a friend today about accessibility online. For instance, Twitter allows users to download applications like TwitterBerry, TwitterFox and DestroyTwitter -- widgets that give you constant updates of what's happening on the site without you having to log on to it. This is just one network, mind you. Facebook, MySpace, Chi.mp and other networks all have applications that let you use them on your phone or Blackberry.

I guess I really don't know how people do it. Or keep up. As it is, I barely use my pre-paid cell phone. I do admit to using e-mail a lot for personal reasons and for work (remind me to tell you the story of how a lady in the cubicle next to me, e-mailed me to get her a file that was literally a chair-roll away from her). But, it's all so fast! Don't people want to slow down? Just a bit?

It's hard, I know, because having things available at the click of a button is also a very good thing. The world is moving at a fast pace and we need to do our best to keep up, or risk being left behind. But sometimes, when it's possible, it's fun taking the longer route. 

It helps to have an element of surprise in moments when nothing is surprising anymore... I mean, we live in a world where you can custom-design your unborn child!

But, I digress. My point is that when possible, try to take your time... take the longer route... you just might appreciate the view. 

xo

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And since I mentioned them, here are the Dixie Chicks with one of my favourite songs. Enjoy!

Beating the Blahs

"I'm feeling as though that huge dark cloud that had been following me around for months has taken off," I said with a smile. I was finally feeling cheerful again after countless days of absolute dreariness.

"Oh yea?" she replied. "Hmm.. that must mean that the cloud is now following someone else... they don't just disappear, you know?"

Huh? I looked at her with a quizzical nod. I wasn't going to correct her with a down and dirty science lesson. All that mattered for the moment was the fact that I was finally basking in the sunshine I so craved.

"After this experience, I absolutely believe in the February Blahs," I said. "I used to think that was something people just made up to explain why everyone got mopey around that time of the year, but now, after having experienced it, I know it's true!"

"Tell me about it! For a while there, I thought the winter would NEVER go away."

I remember a distinct conversation between my mother and a neighbour that I had overheard as a child. We were fairly new to the country at that time, and just getting settled in. Our neighbour had quickly taken a liking to my mother and began feeding her with anecdotes and 'facts' about what it meant to be truly Canadian.

This particular conversation began with, "You know, there's three things you can never go wrong talking to any other Canadian about," she said. "Just remember three Ws -- Weather, Women and Work."

My mother laughed at this during the conversation, but, as the years went by, she soon realized the truth to those words. And so did I.

I can't express the number of conversations I've had with friends, family members, and in some instance, complete strangers about the number one word on that list -- Weather.

"Do you realize that we refer to the weather at least once a day," I said while staring intently at my computer screen, unable to read the mass of words that seemed to fly right over my head. I was proof-reading again.

"We do?" she asked. "Hmm... maybe because it's such a large part of our day."

"I guess it is, isn't it?" I thought out loud as I turned to her. "So much of what we do, or decide to do is based on whether or not it's raining, or snowing, or windy, or sunny... although that doesn't happen too often here!"

"OK there, Miss Tropicana!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "Not everyone was born in the sunshine!"

"I wasn't born in sunshine. I'm a monsoon baby."

"Whatever."

"I am!"

"OK, whatever! All I know is, you're only happy when it's sunny," she said finally.

"That's not true," I said. "I'm happy when the sun comes out to visit after a loooooooooong hiatus -- which I believe causes the February Blahs. It's different."

"OK."

"OK?"

"Yea, OK."

I felt as though I had to defend myself. So off I went.

"Listen, when the weather gets like this at this time of the year, people start to wake up. They feel alive... invigorated, even. Suddenly, it's not just the day that's brighter - life is brighter too. People start thinking about the future, when, in the doom and gloom of the dark winter, all they could think about was getting out of the wind and cold. About sleeping..."

I paused to think for a quick moment, then exclaimed, "You know what? Winter crushes dreams!!"

"Winter what?

"Crushes dreams!" I repeated.

"You're nuts, you know?"

"Well, it does," I said adamantly.

"And now?"

"And now the sun is out, and the dreams are alive again."

"Ah-ha! For how long?" she asked. Ugh! She was challenging me.

"Hmmm... for as long as it takes!" I said simply, as I went back to staring at the maze of words on the screen.

Coffee for Change

"So, how's the new placement treating you?" he asked, with a knowing smile on his face. It irritated me, that smile. He already knew the answer, and yet he was asking the obvious.

"Well, you know... can't say much just yet," I said while subconsciously shredding my coffee napkin to bits. "I've only been there a week."

He kept grinning as he watched my face. He was studying me, as he usually does when we meet up for our random coffee dates.

"You liked the other place better, didn't you? How come you didn't stay?" he asked with what looked like concern.

How come I didn't stay. That might be the million dollar question, I thought to myself.

"They didn't have anything available for me," I said with frustration. "And besides, they have a lineup of potential hires, before they'd ever consider me."

I hated the third degree. I know he, just like the others meant no harm by their questions. They were obvious questions that were coming at an obvious time - two months prior to what should be one of the most ground-shifting moments in my career path.

"Hey, something will come up," he said, as his look shifted from smugness to sympathy. "You know, you just have to hang in there."

Hang in there. These days, it seems as though those three words follow me where ever I go. And besides, who ever thought that visual was a good thing?

I always think of that poster with the little kitten hanging on the clothesline when someone says that to me. I feel sorry for it just before I imagine it losing its grip and crashing to the ground. Does anyone even know what happened to that kitten anyway? No? Maybe there's a reason for that.

"You know, I am trying," I said with a forced smile.

"Is this what you want to do anyway?" he asked. "I mean, I know you're in your element as far as the industry is concerned, but is this the kind of storytelling you're interested in?"

What did he mean? Well, I knew what he meant. I had been talking to him about my hopes and dreams for such a long time now... of course I knew what he was talking about.

"Yea, of course!" I said with a little too much forced enthusiasm. "I'm here, aren't I? And if I hang in here for a little while longer, I'll be doing what I really want."

"And what's that?" he challenged.

"Writing stories," I said.

"What kind of stories? Breaking news? Features on the best fashion trends for the season? Death and the plight of the human spirit as it crumbles from the blows of 'Recession 2009?'" he asked.

Wow, was this guy poetic, or what?

"Umm... yes?" I mumbled as I tried to read his face. I wasn't so sure anymore. I mean, I was before I met up with him... now not so much.

Or was I?

"Look, all I'm saying is that for as long as I've know you, you've yammered on and on about wanting to make a difference," he began. "You always said you were going to use what you learned to do something positive."

"And I'm not?" I asked with frustration. "People watch the news... they read about fashion in magazines..."

"Yes, I'm sure they do... but when did that become your number one goal?" he asked. "I thought you said you always wanted to travel."

"I do!" I said, noting that my volume was getting louder as my frustration grew.

"And you can do that while you wait your turn to maaaybe become part of the Channel 6 news team or this magazine you keep talking about," he said, more as a question than a statement.

I looked past him at my reflection on the mirrored wall. Suddenly I didn't know anymore and all I could think about was how fast I wanted to get home.

He was right, you know? I didn't dare tell him that he had once again reminded me of some of my greatest aspirations.

But he knew.

As I said my goodbye and walked out of the coffeeshop, I glanced back through the window. That all too familiar smile on his face as he sipped his coffee, told me he knew very well what he had just set in motion.

Another day another theoretical dollar

Theoretical Dollars - That's what my brother and I call money that we should be getting, or money that we're promised... but never see. This money is referred to numerous times by the people who promise it... but for us, the ones who it's promised to, well, we know better.
I never fully understood how much theoretical money existed in this world until I began my internship in early January. This is the final leg of my journalism program, and I'm expected to do this dance until the end of April.
What is this dance, exactly?
Well, let me explain. Every day I'm expected to come in to my placement and work full-time hours for full-time theoretical dollars and full-time theoretical benefits. I do all the work that people who are on the payroll do, and once in a while, I get them coffee. I'm gaining valuable experience and learning a lot every day.
So why is it that everyday when I wake up I find the lump in my throat gets bigger and bigger?
I say to myself, "It's the economy!" The world is falling deep into the clutches of a global recession and this is reflecting on my mood. Right?
Not so much.
You see, that lump isn't because of my theoretical-dollars contract that should expire in April. It's a result of the fact that this contract might extend well into the year ahead.
This isn't just depressing... it's deep-ressing. I really appreciate that this field is offering to be so nice to me, but I'm OK. I'd prefer a regular contract with regular benefits and regular dollars to any of this theoretical stuff. It would be nice to see my bank account grow, rather than watch it stagnate. It would be even better knowing that the work I'm doing is helping pay for my desire to travel, enjoy life (and pay off loans).

The saving grace (if you can even look at it that way) is that I'm not in this alone. There's a whole slew of aspiring journalistas out there who are in the same sinking canoe. I hope that in time (MAY) we can find some putty, fix the hole in this canoe and sail on over into a pool of success.

Anyone else with me?

xo
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