On Surprising Yourself

It's not often that my body surprises me or does something unexpected.

In the last 4 years or so, I've been collecting new experiences and sensations, but always with the knowledge that I was safe in my own body and mind. That I knew myself well enough to trust/anticipate my own reactions (be they good or bad).

In the last month, I've had two entirely new and quite unpleasant encounters with my body doing something that I didn't see coming. I wonder if it's because I'm getting old and my body is already wearing down, of if being pushed to my limits is simply new to me .

The first was the weekend before my new job. I was camping with my extended family a few hours away from Ottawa. I was a little nervous because that only gave me a couple hours on Sunday night to prep for my first day, but hey, I'm Leah, I can do anything! Or so I thought...

On Saturday night, I knew I had to get a decent night's sleep so I could be fresh to do my work prep. So despite the warmth of the campfire and several beloved cousins still chatting around it, I retired to my tent. An hour went by and I couldn't fall asleep, the campfire chatting was loud and there was music coming from the other side of the lake. I was also kind of cold (even though I had a good quality 3-season sleeping bag). Then, I started to worry, and it all went downhill from there.

By the time I stumbled out of the tent at 2am to ask my cousin to take me back to the house, I was in full-blown panic mode. My mind was buzzing with anxiety I was shaking like a leaf. Even the warmth of my aunt and uncle's couch AND two friendly dogs wasn't enough to keep me from shivering.

The next morning after a scant 2 hours of unrestful sleep, the first person to get up and notice me on the couch was my mother. She asked what was wrong, but when I opened my mouth to calmly explain, I couldn't contain the sobs. And as the morning wore on and more family member saw me asked what happened, I couldn't explain without my eyes filling with tears and my chin puckering.

The mental anxiety was bad enough, but I'm used to dealing with my own insecurities. What really floored me, and probably made the stress spiral so violent was the fact that my body was reacting in a way that it had never done before: the shaking and sleeplessness were something wholly new to me. I didn't know how to cope because I had no precedent to compare it to. It was scary and new.

Tonight, I was surprised again. At taekwon-do, the warm ups are always intense. It's been that way for the last 3 weeks that I've been attending. It's tough, but nothing I can't handle, even if the instructor puts me on the spot and pushes me harder than I'd push myself (like he did tonight). This evening, I knew on my way to class that I was hungry. I hadn't really had time to eat a proper meal all day really, just small, snack-sized meals. I didn't think anything of it...

Until 3/4 of the way through class, when I started to feel awfully dizzy. I figured it was just adrenaline from the epic moves I'd just learned, and pride that I wasn't doing all that badly for a padawan. But then, even after a few minutes rest and a breath of fresh air, I was still feeling lightheaded. So much so, that I didn't even feel up to the last exercise (which was awesome flying kicks/punches). I even felt like I was going to pass out. It wasn't until one of the instructors asked if I'd eaten that I realized that my body was trying to warn me. Never in my life had I been so at the mercy of an unfed body. Apparently, my blood needs sugar. Who knew?

I guess these instances have been a bit of a wake up call for me. It's as if the powers-that-be are reminding me that it's hubris to think that I know my own body/mind perfectly enough to predict and/or control its reactions. And so, the quest must continue to improve myself and learn about myself.

Almost passing out in the middle of a taekwon-do class is NOT fun (in fact it's very embarrassing and humbling), but it did teach me that I have to make sure I eat properly before submitting my body to that much abuse.

Soooooo Leah needs to take her pride down a notch. I've been so pleased and proud of all the work I've done improving myself that I've started to think that I don't need any more (except in the area of romance, of course), which is a terribly cheeky way to think of yourself. Well, universe, I hear you. I'm fallible. I still have an awful lot of discovering left to do and improvements to make. Consider this lesson learned. Now pardon me while I eat something...My blood sugar needs to have a word with me as well.

On Writing

I've never considered myself to be an exceptional writer. I've just always loved writing. I assume it stems from a love a reading that I developed as a child. What else could I do? I had few friends and was bullied often enough to, according to my father, come home crying and saying I didn't want to go to school on a regular basis.

And so, I retreated into a world of fantasy: Ella Enchanted, Catherine called Birdy, The Chronicles of Narnia, countless fairy tales, and Little House on the Prarie (whose setting was foreign enough to me to be considered fantasy, ha ha ha!). They made me happy because I could imagine myself beyond the real world that caused me pain so frequently.

It seems like a natural progression to want to give something back to the literary world that gave so much to me. And so, I started writing.

At first, I clumsily mimicked stories I knew and loved:

[N.B. these are exactly transcribed, so please forgive the grammatical errors. I was the queen of run-on-sentences... :P]

Grade 2 [I think]:

(...) La sorciere parle au prince. "Prince, tu as 3 jours a dit 'je t'aime' au monstre. Si tu dis a la troisieme jour, le monstre va changer en princesse." (...)

Grade 6:

(...) The christening was a great one and all the gods and goddesses came to lay their blessings on the infant, but one person was not invited. The sea witch was sore vexed. She got very angry indeed and burst through the palace doors. Everyone was silenced, she started to walk towards the cradle which held the little girl. She chanted a spell in an unknown language. Suddenly, the witch and the baby were gone!

Neptune and his wife searched everywhere and sent messengers all over the ocean but neither the princess nor the witch could be found. All the oceans seemed to fall into a bottomless pit of despair. Neptune and his wife cried every night to the mourn the loss of their only child. (...) [At the end, the witch bursts from anger and is never ever seen again, ha ha ha!]

Also Grade 6:

Once upon a time long ago, Rabbit had a long bushy tail like Fox. Rabbit loved his tail and would spend long hours cleaning and brushing it but sometimes he would brag and the other animals got tired of it so one night the lion called a council meeting and once they were all there, some of them started complaining:

"Rabbit always says his tail is better than mine!" Fox cried,

"Rabbit keep saying his tail is faster than mibne!" whined Turtle,

"Rabbit won't stop bugging me by saying his tail stands out more than mine!" complained Bear, and so it went on.

"Calm yourselfs" said Lion. "We shall think of a small punishment for him" Then it got noisy again

"Let's banish him!" shouted Skunk

"Let's burn him!" whistled Robin

"Duh, let's feed 'im to the owl!" said Buzzard

"No, no, no! A SMALL punishment" repeated Lion.

"I know", brayed Donkey "Let's get Owl to bite off his tail, then he won't brag about it anymore!" (...)

Grade 11: [dramatic monologue for Hamlet unit]

There are so many ways I could kill you. I could sever your hands and feet from your limbs and watch you bleed to death. I could poison your cup with a substance so vile that it would make your body sieze and your heart shudder to a slow and painful stop. The possibilities are infinite (...) What if I nestled a venemous serpent into your sin-stained sheets so that it would strike you as you made incestuous love to my whore-mother? (...)

Once I hit high school, though, I stopped using school as my only outlet to write and started to create my own stories. I still have the beginnings of two or three novels that I started writing. At this age, my stories took on another purpose: to live out my own fantasies. Having grown up reading about girls having great adventures, I wanted my own! The heroines in my "novels" looked and acted surprisingly like me, and the romantic interests looked and acted strangely like whatever guy I had a crush on at the time.

You'd think I'd have grown out of that. But really, all the male characters in the stories I write now (including the novel I'm seriously working on) are based on men I know/knew. So much so, that there are a few projects that I have going that I'm far too embarrassed to show to others because the similarities to my life and fantasies are so blatantly obvious!

But never in my life, would I have imagined that my blog ramblings and novel-in-progress would actually generate interest! Tonight, I was asked by a friend (you know who you are... :P) that she was disappointed that I did my blog post in the morning because she looked forward to reading them before going to sleep. Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather, I was just that flattered and pleased! So of course I wrote another post just for her <3

But I've also received so much positive feedback from others about my novel, and recently, this blog. I just feel so amazingly blessed that my writing, imperfect as it is, gives people pleasure. Finally, I'm starting to give back to the world what has been given to me since I was a lonely insecure little girl.

That's why I write. I don't believe I can call myself a writer until I publish something, but that doesn't stop me from writing my little heart out to amuse, inspire, encourage, or just get things out of my own system.

I just hope that my love affair with the written word doesn't someday turn into an unhappy marriage and divorce, ha ha ha!

On Pain

This morning, I work up with bruised forearms as a result of a blocking exercise in Tae Kwon Do last night that was meant to "toughen me up". The instructor even went around after the exercise to check that our forearms were red, because "if they weren't red and painful to the touch, you weren't doing it right". It made perfect sense, but it hurt like a bitch. And it made me think about pain.

Despite what most people think, pain can be a good thing. In the case of this exercise, toughening up the areas you use for blocking opponents assures that if you're attacked in real life, blocking will cause you overall less pain, and hopefully, more pain for your attacker. Thus, temporary and controlled pain in a safe environment can give you an edge in the future.

Another example of "good pain" is that soreness and stiffness you get after the first good workout in awhile. Sure, it's not pleasant having to hobble around like an arthritic octogenarian for a few days, but it means that your muscles have been pushed to their limit and will soon get stronger. Microtears that occur in your muscles and cause the pain are quickly healed and toughened.

Continuing on this analogy, I can say that even pain signifying a more serious muscle injury is beneficial. Again, not pleasant, but beneficial. If you sprain or tear a muscle, it causes a lot of pain. It's your body telling you, first of all, to stop what you're doing because it's wrong in some way. And later, as a reminder not to move that particular body part too much while it heals.

Pain can also be a red flag that something is not right in your body. A sore throat can that you're fighting off some virus or bacteria; a sharp pain in your side can mean that your appendix is about to do something stupid; a headache can mean anything from a tumor to dehydration. It tells us to stop and see a doctor, or to rest up while the microscopic battle rages.

So really, pain has an important function: it's our watchdog and nursemaid and chaperone all rolled into one as our bodies make their way through the physical world. It assures our survival and remind us that we're still here. Interesting side note: the reason lepers lose body parts is because extremities lose their ability to register pain, (and later any feeling at all). If your hand doesn't feel pain, you don't know that it's being slowly eaten away by infection, or being burned by a hot mug of coffee...

To feel pain is part of being alive. We all stub toes and break bones and get sick in our lives. Trying to avoid or mask physical pain can be more dangerous than simply living through it.

Similarly, emotional pain serves an important purpose. Painful emotions can warn us that we're in trouble, or that we need to take a break and rest, or that our perception need to be altered.

Grief for example, is a natural emotion that we feel when we lose a loved one. Trying to ignore the pain of loss is like an athlete trying to power through a serious injury: it not only causes more pain, but it can lead to more serious damage and pain later on. On the flip side, dwelling on emotional pain is just as dangerous. It prevents us from moving forward and growing, like an overprotective mother who disallows a son from playing sports because he once broke his arm playing soccer.

We need a certain amount of emotional pain to develop stronger, more resilient personalities, just like we need to go through a certain amount of physical pain if we want to have stronger, more resilient bodies.

This thinking, to me, helps greatly with my own pain management, both physical and emotional. Just knowing that there is a purpose for the pain, and if I play my card right, that I can benefit from it, can make the pain more manageable. As a result, I have grown more resilient to pain in general. It's enough to prevent me from slipping into depression when life gets tough, or to allow me to pop a dislocated toe back into place before the adrenaline wears off and swelling starts.

To quote Dr. Paul Brand: "pain is the gift that nobody wants". Pain may not be pleasant, but we'd be better off appreciating and accepting the marvellous and subtle genius that is our ability to feel pain. It's what makes us human.

On Farmer's Markets

Today was the penultimate day for the Bayshore Farmer's market...The mini-market that operates on Wednesdays in the parking lot of the Bayshore mall (which is right next to my apartment building)

For the last two months, I've developed a routine. Make sure I have $40 cash on Wednesday so I could to the the market on the way home from the bus stop. My shopping list was usually the same every week:

First stop was to the stall at the far end, where they had melons. I'd choose some obscure variety of melon and maybe a green pepper or two. Next to that was the bakery stall, where I'd get a baguette of olive bread, and a demi-baguette of white bread. Then to the meat stall for either a chunk of Mennonite summer sausage, or a package of wild game sausages. Last, I'd hit up the veg seller for a chat and some potatoes and/or beans.

It was so nice to go there and be able to chat with the vendors, who knew me by sight, if not by name. And I know it will feel like torture to have to take the long bus to go to the grocery store, where the clerks don't care and the food isn't nearly as good.

I'm sure I could wax philosophical about this topic, but it's late and I just got back from tae kwon do...So I need to go pass out now, ha ha ha!

On Being a Heroine

I had a very vivid dream last night. It was long, so I'll sum up:

I was backpacking around Ottawa, with nothing but a small bag containing a change of underpants, a spare pair of socks and a water bottle. Suddenly, a giant alien robot started raining destruction upon the city. I somehow knew that I'd be safe of the other side of river so a couple of intrepid friends and I bolted from the safety of the underground mall we were hiding out in to the bank of the river. It was out in the open, but the alien robot was far enough away to give us some time to cross.

I started to wade in, when the water magically turned to salt (some kind of protective spell), with the consistency of wet sand. I forced my way out further, but by the time I got shoulder deep, I couldn't move at all. We stood panicking for a few minutes, watching the alien robot crushing Ottawa. But then, a young man appeared on the shore and called out: "I know the spell, I know the words! It's a song!" He waded in and sang the first line to me, and I sang it back. The salt started to loosen. He kept singing, and I tentatively followed. Soon, I realized that I knew the words (without actually knowing the song) and within a few lines, we were both singing together. The salt once again turned to water and I swam across the river.

I got to the other side and scaled up the building that stood right on the bank. Once there, I looked out the window and saw nothing but desert and desolation. Somehow, though, I knew that we would be safe and make this place habitable and prosperous. [We may even call it "This Land"!!! :P]

Over the years, I've found that I often dream of major catastrophes and/or post-apocalyptic futures. The thing is, though, I'm always the heroine. I'm the one saving myself and those with me. Or leading the resistance. Or defeating the bad guy. Or slipping past the invasion forces. But always something totally badass in the face of adversity.

I don't really have true nightmares anymore, either. I have discomforting dreams sometimes. Ones that when I wake up, I know that I've just seen some kind of refection of myself that was not terribly flattering, or some truth that I was avoiding or ignoring.

So what do my dreams tell me? Over my years of studying dreams, I've come to the conclusion that most dreams are one or more of the following: your own hopes/fantasies/fears, your subconscious trying to tell you something, and random images from the last few weeks.

I'm usually able to interpret my dreams based on those guidelines. But some things I've yet to figure out, such as this theme of "Post-Apocalyptic Heroine" which seems to pop up so often in my dreams. It just doesn't fit with any of the categories above, nor does it fit with my personality...

Perhaps some day I'll learn why. For now, I'll just keep kicking ass and believing that if we're ever invaded, people can count on me to lead the revolution. Vive la Resistance!!!

On Old Friends

I had planned to spend this evening sitting on the terrace of the Highlander Pub with my good friend, but fate had other plans. Not an hour after we'd sat down and started our catchings-up, but another very old, very dear friend of mine (and acquaintance of my other friend) passed by and ended up joining us.

What started out as quick pint to catch up on the last month or so, turned into the kind of evening where the time just flew by because I was with two wonderful friends. We chatted about how life had been doing, what our respective siblings and mutual friends had been up to, but also touched on philosophy, as we're all quite thoughtful people.

One thing I noticed (and this is continuing the thread I started sever posts ago), is my behaviour around the friend that joined us by surprise. As I said, he's a very dear friend from when I was in high school. And I found myself in a very strange kind of mood. Usually, when I'm around men I'm attracted to (and this is a fellow that I've been attracted to since high school - though I'd never date him...), I'm nervous, and a bit of a bumpkin. But I'm so comfortable around him that I noticed that I was flirting effortlessly. Not flirting with a mission; I didn't want to get into his pants or anything, but flirting like I see other girls do on a regular basis. And that got me thinking: no wonder I'm such a disaster around men: they terrify me. Ha ha ha!! It was nice, though, to be around an attractive young man who I knew cared about me, and that I didn't have to be on my guard around.

I also can't help gushing about how wonderful the evening was. The warm afternoon cooling into a brisk evening, a few glasses of wine. All three of us drank enough to loosen up, but not enough to be drunk: the happy medium. There was an balance of conversation - no one person dominated it. And the waitress was very nice. And in the end, all of us realized it was time to depart, but none of us regretted it because it was neither too late nor too early. And as if the evening couldn't get any better, both of my friends made plans for the next time to get together with me.

I may complain about my lack of a love life, and yes, I do wish I had a man to share my life (and my bed!) with, but it's nights like this that really make my life feel complete. As if there's no better place to be than who I am, where I am, at this very moment. I'm happy that it happened, but not resentful that it's over, because I know that while I have wonderful friends, I'll always be able to look forward to more nights like this...

On Journaling (Part 2)

Since yesterday's post, I've been thinking about why I've been keeping a diary all these years...And I've come to the conclusion that it's for two real reasons. The first being that I need a place to let out all the embarrassing thoughts I have, which is mostly about my romantic hijinx. The second is that I want my descendants to have some kind of account of my youth.

That being said, I don't even know if I'm going to have kids...I love kids, but the way things are going, it seems unlikely that I'm going to settle down in time to have any.

This might explain why I'm so excited for my sisters to have kids. Maybe deep down, I know that I need to live vicariously though them because it's the closest I'll get to a family of my own (my cat doesn't count)

But I digress.

A byproduct of keeping a diary is, of course, being able to look back on your life and see patterns emerging. Perhaps, you might see something that you didn't notice while living it, and now, with hindsight, you can learn from whatever it was. I've really been trying to learn from my past.In one sense, I have. I'm much more aware of who I am as a person, but at the same time, I can't seem to escape it, either.

It isn't all bad, though. Thanks to my diary, I've been able to retain some pretty epic memories of people and places that would have otherwise been forgotten. And my diary has it's share of pretty epic retrospection. I ended off my last diary with one such retrospection that I'd like to share, because I think this is what journaling is about:

"June 24, 2008 -

(...) I realized that while it's hard for me to see, I have a really exciting life! The people, the places...And when this came to my mind, I felt this amazing peace wash over me, and I was sublimely happy. And to think that my life is only about a quarter over, I can look forward to so much more in the next 60 or so years.

I'm in Korea for another 8 months, and it feels like forever, but why fret about it when it's so little time compared to the span of my life? So much has happened already...And I want to end this diary with adequate musings of the last 7 years [this diary spanned from 2001-2008].

When this diary was started, at Christmas of my senior year at high school, I was still a child, despite my serious relationship and miscarried pregnancy. And in a way, I'm still a child. I keep waiting for this feared adulthood my parents keep warning me about. I know 23 is not exactly old, but I see nothing of this dreaded adult life, so I can only assume that I haven't gotten there yet.

And yet, in the space of 7 years, I've graduated twice, traveled to to both ends of the Earth; loved, lost, loved again; made new friendships, rekindled old ones; seen my name in print; become sexually liberated; been so happy I could burst, and so proud that I glowed; shaken the hand of a great actor; met humblingly holy men and men who were so human it hurt; felt abandoned by my own mother, then 'adopted' by another; discovered my past, mastered my own future; learned that love comes in as many forms as there are stars in the sky...

And I've barely even started...

Even though I'm in the middle of an adventure, with the completion of this diary, I feel as if a chapter of my life is closing and another is about to be opened.

As always, your faithful writer, Leah Chisholm"

I think this is why I keep a diary. For moments like that. Moments when I can look back and feel good about the choices I've made and the lessons I've learned. It's funny how at 26, I can read back to when I was 23 and feel inspired, as if I could learn from my younger, more innocent and less jaded self. Perhaps it can even keep me from becoming too world weary in the end.

On Journaling and My Sad Romantic Past

In celebration of my daily journal, I went though my old diaries. And it occurred to me: doing a daily journal for this Stoic workshop is not a great stretch from what I've been doing for half my lifetime anyways, except that this one I have to write in every day, and for a purpose.

I currently have 7 journals. Three diaries (the third is half filled), and four dream journals (the fourth has just been started) - pictured here. The diaries range from December 25, 1997 to July 26, 2011 and the dream journals range from December 29, 2000 to September 11, 2011:

My dream journals ^

My diaries ^

After reading through my old diaries, I realized something quite interesting (and slightly worrisome): while I have grown and matured in many ways since I was 12, one thing has stayed exactly the same. I'm still completely unable to deal with my feelings about men. It's small wonder that I still write about it so often, because it's one of the few things that I've not been able to sort out despite years of introspection and self-improvement. The only thing that has changed about it as I've aged is my ability to express it slightly more eloquently on paper. For your amusement, here is a history of my romantic failures, copied word-for-word from my private diary:

N.B. Each post is a different guy unless otherwise stated -

Age 12:

"Jan 18, 1998 - I wonder if he has a crush on me. I wonder if any boy has a crush on me. If so, why hasn't anyone asked me out? Or asked me to dance? Oh, forsaken and lonely me! Oh well, I always have myself."

Age 13:

"July 24, 1999 -I will try to forget about _____. No songs or words from friends will be able to touch me, for he has been shut out of my heart. At least until I know he does not hate me...but as long as I think he does, I will not talk about him, write about him, relate songs to him, or think about him. Please help me through this."

"Sept 21, 1999 - Sometimes I wonder why I just stand around while _____ and _____ get all the guys. I don't think I'm flirty. Or I'm not flirty enough. Even though, I always get the nerdy or really ewwy guys, and they get all the nice, hot guys. Maybe I should work on my attitude, or my posture..or my EVERYTHING!!! Tomorrow I will ask ____ and _____ about it. Perhaps they can give me some advice. I think that _[same guy as July 24]__ has weaseled his way into my heart again. I'm not saying that I "like" his again. Just, he is so just adorable that I just can't push him completely out of my thoughts. I wonder if he can still sing...What am I bubbling about? I should stop this before I fill this entire book with his 'cuteness' Bye!"

[There's a bit of a gap here from when I was 15 and had 5-year relationship and didn't have to worry about men :P]

Age 21:

"May 28, 2006 - (...) Today in his blog, _[my ex]_ referred to [his new girlfriend] as his muse. He always called me his muse. It bothers me that he's saying the same things to her as he did to me. As if it doesn't really matter who the girl is, as long as she's with him. And here I thought I was someone special. Oh well. Hearing about ____ and ____ makes me wonder why I'm not attached yet. I'm over _____, but I just haven't been interested in dating. Well, I've decided to start trying a little harder. I'm eating better and getting exercise. And by the time I go to England, I'll be desirable again."

Age 22:

(Warning: this post has an excessive and unrealistic use of the word 'love'...I think I was experimenting with the word, ha ha ha!):

"Sept 16, 2007 - (...) When he said that, I realized that he must feel something for me, too. Also, that I have to stop being afraid of love. So I love him. I'm not sure what about him I love, because I know so little about him. I just know that there's a bond between us and I love him. How do I know I love him?Well, it just seems more meaningful than any of the crushes or one-night-stands I've have. Thinking of him doesn't give me nervous butterflies like it did with other crushes. I think of him and I feel happy and warm."

Age 23:

"Oct 10, 2008 - ____ and I both crushed on him. We used very different methods. She really kinda threw herself at him, and made a show of being moody when he was deep in conversation with me. I, on the other hand, managed to gain his trust and reach a nice level of comfort with him and prove myself an equal. (...) She won, plain and simple. This made me think very hard about the whole situation. And this is what I found: men are not attracted to women who are their equal. They want a woman who makes them feel (even if they're not) stronger, smarter and altogether superior to her. Men want their friends and colleagues to be their equals, not their lovers or girlfriends.This is a pattern that seems to repeat itself in my life all to often. (...) So here I am, pouring my little broken heart out to a piece of paper, and ____'s got a date with _____ on Monday. Regardless, I'm pleased to have a friend in ______, even if it's all I'll ever have."

Age 24:

"July 24, 2009 - (...) After the show, when his bus came, he hugged me, then gave me a kiss on the lips! I totally didn't expect it either! He's only kissed me on the cheek so far and even theough this kiss was really quick and friendly, more of a peck, he kissed me on the lips!!! I smiled all the way home...My goodness, I haven't been this giddy about a little kiss since ____. I can't wait to see him again!"

Aug 23, 2009 - I wish I had happier news about _[guy from July 24]_, but the fact is that he hasn't contacted me in a long time.I'd be , lying if I said I wasn't upset. I really like him I can't imagine what happened. Oh well, life goes on, though. Small heartbreaks don't kill a person and they certainly won't kill me. Still sucks, though. You know, I really have to learn to not get myself so excited about things like men. They're just so fickle...But then, I guess so am I for getting myself emotionally involved."

Age 25:

"June 3, 2010 - I've tried so hard to stop pining for _____. I've tried to tell myself that I'm not attracted to him; that he's completely uninterested. And yet, I end up at the same place every time. I can lie to myself all I want, but the fact is that I really like him. I know this because I feel the need to talk about it here. It's always the same story. Leah likes boy. Leah writes about the boy in her diary. Boy moves away (physically or mentally). First, it was _____, then ______, then _______, now ________ (with ______ in there, filling the gaps). I don't understand why I can't just like a normal guy like a normal girl does, and flirt like a normal girl does. Maybe then I'd have a boyfriend instead of mere scribbles on paper."

Age 26:

"May 16, 2011 - Ugh. Why can't I stop writing about the guys I like? You'd think I never grew up from who I was in Jr high *sigh* (...) One side of me wants to believe that he's interested, but the other side is convinced that this is a cruel joke the the universe is playing on me, where I've fallen for a man that has no interested in me. Again. Even, if in this case, all signs point to him being interested. Also, a part of me wonders if the universe is protecting me from harm. Perhaps all these men I've liked in the past few years have been entirely wrong for me and I'm being spared from having to date them before I figure it out...But then again, I need to date. I need the experience to know what to look for in men. Oh man, I don't know why I keep having thoughts like this, because really, my problem is that I think too much about this sort of thing. I need to stop overanalyzing. Maybe I spend too much time alone. I was talking to _____ about this a few days ago. I told her that I want a boyfriend because I have so much romantic love inside me that can't be expressed. It's just being bottled up until I find the right man. It's not that I don't like being alone, in fact, I quite enjoy it. It's that I need that cathartic release of emotion that only a significant other can provide. Well, the quest continues. And at very least, this thing with _____ is yet another adventure in the bittersweet saga that is my dating life."

So there you have it. I'm feeling a little exposed after posting this in such a public place. My diary is where I write things that I'm afraid to talk about or admit to others.

I'm discouraged by it all, really. So little has changed and all-in-all, nothing has improved in my romantic modus operandi despite the efforts I have put forth over the years. I've made such leaps and bounds in other aspects of my life, but this one has stayed the same...I'd even say it's gotten worse! I fear if I'm not careful, I'll become jaded and embittered.

I was going to write more about journaling, but I find that after this, my mind is hurting a bit. Perhaps I'll finish for my weekly review tomorrow...

On Being Social

I'm never really been the social type. I'm not anti-social, but I don't seek out social situations. I blame this on my lack of social development as a child. When I was in elementary school, I was overly imaginative and very strange. I marched to the beat of my own drummer, which didn't endear me to my peers. In fact, I was bullied. From a strange child, I developed into a strange adolescent, but I had a tight-knit group of strange friends, so I was good.

For the last few years, I've been telling myself that I need to get out and find something that will help me meet new people, which I've never really been good at (aside from when I travel/live abroad, for some reason).

I've tried so many different activities, from medieval reenacting, to music lessons to yoga to ballet and contra dance, with a couple games of volleyball and ultimate frisbee thrown in. But I've never felt at completely at ease. I've never been terribly adept at sports, I have the wrong body-type for ballet, I had to travel too far for yoga (inconvenience is a terrible barrier), I couldn't afford music lessons for long, and everything else had me with groups of people that were not anywhere near my age group (ie. much older)

But after all of this, I think I've found something that fits! Something that I'm interested in, that challenges me, is with people my own age, affordable, and isn't a hassle to get to. And I'm already seeing a difference in the way I think. I feel somehow lighter in spirit. Not only because I'm being social with people my own age, but I'm doing something that I've always wanted to do: learn a martial art. It seems that everything just kinda fell into place. Not only was my childhood friend a tae kwon do black belt, but I lived in Korea, AND tae kwon do is a style that puts the focus on kicking, which just happens to be my strong suit (yay for tree-trunk legs!)

So all-in-all, I feel like I'm taking a step in the right direction. :P

On Cats and Moths

I just spend the last 1/2 hour watching my cat chasing an enormous moth that snuck into my apartment.

It definitely made me giggle and want to take lots of pictures to prove how very clever and quick my kitty is. And I did.

...but then, I suddenly felt so bad for the poor moth. He fluttered around on the floor, unable to get more than a few cm off the ground. His wings were tattered and he was clearly losing his will to live. It was really tragic.

So I gently picked him up and put him in a bamboo plant on my balcony to die in peace. Pandora meowed at me in indignation for taking away her fab new toy. But the thought of the little moth being either eaten or pounced to death then left on my bed as a present was momentarily too much to bear.

On Self-Restraint

As I was sipping my Starbucks latte this morning, I gave myself a little mental slap on the wrist. "You shouldn't be spending what little money you have on a $5 latte, Leah. You should know better than that!"

Then I started wondering why I could possibly justify doing what I did. And the fact is that I KNEW I shouldn't be spending $5 on a latte, but did it anyways. And here's what I came up with:

The truth is that I'm very self-indulgent. But it doesn't end there. I'm only self-indulgent when it comes to small pleasures, food especially. When it comes to other things, clothes, gadgets, etc. I show remarkable self-restraint. And they kind of play off each other. For example: I can easily will myself to not spend money on new clothes or shoes by turning around and letting myself buy an ice cream cone instead. The problem with this is that I've become so accustomed to using food as a source of deflected pleasure that it's become a habit.

Now, I'm left with a habit of using food for pleasure and I have little self-restraint in the matter. I DO wish I ate less (especially less junk food), but if I didn't, I'd be left with little by way of small, private pleasures, so I'm reluctant to find another source of pleasure that is healthier. Besides, the idea of having to train myself out of such a benign (albeit irksome) habit is not one that appeals to me.

So here I am, caught fluctuating between two extremes: self-indulgence and self-restraint. I wish I knew how to find the middle ground in a way that would keep me content.

On Dreams and Sex

I think I'm starting to forget what sex is like. It's been a year since I've been had any, or even been kissed. The reason this popped into my mind is because I've had a few dreams lately that involved having sex with women, which at first I thought was strange, as I'm straight as an arrow. But that got me thinking: maybe the sensory memory of sex is wearing away, so now, all I have is myself to fill the void. And since I know what my body does, it's not so much of a leap to imagine a woman's body in my bed. So when I'm dreaming about having sex with women, is that me having sex with myself?

On a slightly related note, I still dream of men, but just not having sex with them. I dream of having a boyfriend, and being kissed and cared for. Just not sex. And thinking about this, I wonder if it might have something to do with the fact that if I care about a guy, I'm not interested in the content of his trousers...Not until there's a possibility of taking the acquaintance/friendship to the next level. For me, it's because I respect him. Others say that I'm dooming myself before I even get started (or an incredulous "In what century did you learn your dating skills?!?!). *shrugs* Maybe I live too much in my own little world of idealism, where men and women build some kind of friendship, or at least respect before they jump in the sack.

Yes, it's been a dry year, but that was by choice. Lord knows there are willing men out there, and I've been propositioned numerous times. That has been bothering me. I wonder if my idealism is taking over and I'm not being reasonable. My mind says "Leah, you've had your fun having your little flings, but did it bring you happiness? No." It didn't at all. The only real happiness I ever got from sex was when it was with someone I truly and deeply cared about. The rest was just for the thrill of being naughty, and I'm really not the naughty type. So here I am, waiting for someone I care for to kiss me. But I have doubts. At my age, in today's culture, am I being silly in wanting to wait, now that I've had my share of one-night-stands? Am I being hypocritical? Or Puritanical? Am I denying myself harmless pleasure for the sake of some lofty idea of virtue? Am I wasting my youth by not enjoying it? Why do I care?

Sept 20

The power of suggestion is a funny thing. The mere suggestion of an electric encounter, coming from the mouth of a man with wit and charm, is enough to make me melt. Regardless if I was attracted to that man in the first place or not. This has happened to me a few times in my life. The idea of being told by a man that we'd be amazing together has a strange attraction to it. It takes balls to do that, especially as I've been told that my height and intelligence make me rather intimidating to men.

My friends tell me that I'm too picky when it comes to men; that my standards are too high. But really, looking at some of the men that I've ended up with or been attracted to, that certainly can't be true. It seems that when I think of what I want in a man, I see the ideal: tall, lean, bright-eyed, intellectual, sensual, etc; basically, I see Prince Charming. But I guess deep down, I know that Prince Charming isn't real, and I'm open to be seduced by any fellow with the sense to know how.

I still think about _______ fairly frequently. I'm working on trying to stop, as every time I do, I feel just silly. I see my own behaviour reflected in fictional characters I see on TV, and I can't help but wonder, 'Is that what I look like?' I know I wear my emotions pretty plainly. I'm not the most subtle of creatures, so I've never been able to hide them, but I worry that I look as foolish as the characters on TV. Not only that, but I feel ashamed because more often than not, the character is ridiculed or pitied for that behaviour. Is it something I can change? Or is it too much a part of who I am? Would my friends find me less endearing if I didn't have this particular character flaw? Would I be happier without it?

Welcome to my Daily Journal!

Introduction:

Okay, this is my first official post in my Stoic "Daily Journal." This is meant to be a record of my thoughts that will help me on the path of self-examination that this Stoic workshop will take me through over the next 9 months or so. It will be mostly daily thoughts and musings, but I may post the occasional random post apart from the daily journal.

This post will include my previous notes, just so I can have them all in the same place. I admit, it took me a little whole to get going with these, but I think I'm in a place where I'm writing down my thoughts regularly.

N.B. For the sake of keeping some level of privacy, I'm blanking any names of people I think about on that given day. Everything else is genuine, and mostly disjointed thoughts that came to me during the day or before bed. New notes will be more coherent, I promise, ha ha ha!

Previous Notes:

Sept 19 - I regret not having the chance to say "I could have been the best thing that ever happened to you" Not because I'm better than all the other girls out there, but because I sincerely believe that it would have been my job to make you happy.

Sept 17 - I ate too much junk food today. It seems two things occupy my thoughts: food and ________. I seem to still need the approval of my father - ex. texting him about starting TKD. I'm worried about _______ after _______ mentioned it. Thought about writing _______ into a story. My fear of men - WHY?

Sept 16 - Didn't make excuses for myself at TKD: instructor commented --> I wanted to make excuse about pain --> didn't make excuse, just said I'd try. This is a nice change from my usual modus operandi.

Sept 15 - Wrote blog post about kissing. It seems that most of my thoughts fall into two categories: food, and the pursuit of romance. Both seem to bring feelings of shame for the most part. But can I do anything to change that? Do I want to? Trying to understand other people, esp. those I like - WHY? Flaws I don't see until after I stop liking them (________, _________ and _______) Someone not admitting their flaws is a turn-off - will I ever find someone who does? Am I expecting too much?

Sept 13 - Dreams as self-reflection. (Saturday's dream with _____ in it) [side note: in this dream, I was confronted with someone I care about treating me poorly, and then telling me that the reason was because they had found out exactly how I felt about them, feelings that my conscious mind barely even recognized. Apparently, these feelings were inappropriate and unreasonable. It was such an intense reflection into my own subconscious that upon waking, I cried for a good 15 minutes before falling back asleep]

Sept 8 - Accepting flaws rather than improving - can someone say that they strive for perfection without admitting their own flaws or thinking about step that can be taken to help them improve themselves? Understanding flaws vs self-training.

Some Thoughts About Kissing

As I watched "Gone With the Wind" this evening, I particularly amused by the line, "You need kissing badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how."

That made me think about kissing. Which led to my mind being instantly filled with "The Shoop Shoop Song (It's in his Kiss)" by Cher. Considerably less classy than Clark Gable, but thought provoking, certainly.

It made me realize that, as far as my experience goes, men just aren't taught how to kiss properly. That being said, I've never kissed a girl, so I really can't say if this is a cross-gender issue or not. Now, before I start rambling out my thoughts, I need to say that I am writing this purely from my own personal perspective, which is limited, and under the assumption that I myself am a good kisser (which I've been told is the case, but obviously, that doesn't mean it's true).

I have been lucky, in my short years on earth, to have acquired what I believe is an average amount of experience for someone of my age and culture. I've been doubly lucky to have been not only a student of intimate things, but also a teacher. And it is from these two different perspectives that I draw my opinions.

And just like Cher said, it's in his kiss. So much can be said from this small, but very intimate gesture. Now, I'm talking about proper kissing between lovers or sweethearts and not a quick peck or a bise from your friends. In my experience, limited though it is, I can say that there have only been two men who have kissed me properly, and with real feeling.

The first was a very expected source of affection, and so, not terribly surprising in and of itself. The second, however, was wholly unexpected, and the kiss really said it all. Until that moment, I had no idea how this particular man felt about me (we'd been friends for several years), but after that moment, I knew. The details are not important, but what is important is that suddenly, here was a man who not only knew how to kiss, but could effectively convey emotion with that kiss.

All the other men who have kissed me have fallen into two other categories: completely inept (most of them), or good at the kissing part, but decidedly lacking in any emotion other than lust (a few honourable mentions).

This made me wonder. Does this have something to do with how men are educated in the romance department? Who are they learning from? Is it us women? If so, why haven't we said anything about this? I hate to think it's our own fault that we've allowed our menfolk to grow up with such crappy kissing skills. Perhaps it's the way we're taught about love, sex and romance as kids. I know I was lucky that my early sexual development was very gradual, natural and healthy, but I know that not everyone had it so good. Is that an excuse for either lamentable behaviour in the bedroom or the tolerance of such behaviour? I mean, it's not like kissing is very difficult, I fail to see how so many can be so off the mark.

These are the kinds of questions that seem to wander around my head when I think about most of men who have kissed me and how incredibly bad they were at it.

I dunno. Is it just back luck that this has been my experience, of can someone else vouch for me?

Random Musing

They say that pets grow to look like their owners (or vice versa), but my experience is that this owner and her pet have seemed to grow to share personality traits.

I've had my cat, Pandora ever since she was about 3 months old (except for about 2 years when I was abroad and she stayed with family). I've often wondered if I had any influence on her personality, since I raised her.

Now that I live alone, and she's my only steady companion, I notice more and more how alike we are.

I think the most obvious similarity is how she acts around people. Around me, she's solicitous. She pads around after me wherever I am in the house, and if I'm sitting, she settles nearby, or in my lap, if it's available. She's never needy or clingy, though. She acts as though it's the most natural thing in the world to be with me, no effort needed. Around others, she ranges from politely present, to curiously tentative, to comfortably settled, to joyously affectionate. And the funny thing is that more often than not, the way she acts towards a particular person is the same way I act (or would act, if I was less bound by social niceties). I often wonder if she has the same tastes as me, of if she can sense my feelings toward one person or another.

I've also noticed that she's generally very polite. If she needs something, she'll mew softly only a few times, then just look up at me until I pay attention and help. Usually, what she needs is food, water, and clean litter. She won't "ask" for anything else. If she needs it, she'll let me know, but in a sweet, non-pushy way. Of the other hand, if she WANTS something, she won't make a sound. She'll just position herself as close to the object of her desire as she dares and waits. She'll just wait for me to notice that she wants it and offer it to her.

Whether she's a reflection of me, or if she learned from me, I don't know. I wonder sometimes if maybe we're kindred spirits, her and I, and it was fate that brought us together. It could very well be that this is all coincidence and I'm one step closer to being a crazy cat lady. Ha ha ha. Either way, she's good company and I'm glad to have her around.

Now, if only I could work on understanding men as much as I work on understanding my cat...Then maybe I wouldn't still be single! :P