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My mornings in St.John's look like this:  wake up, get kids dressed, head to Coffee Matters, drink a cafe mocha and have Joon map out our walking journey that day.  One day my sister took the kids and I went for a walk on my own.  Something said to me, "try that little cafe on the steps you saw the other day."  So I did.  Though I couldn't remember exactly where it was I figured I would just walk wherever I felt like and I would find it.  I did.

I tried to sit outside, but the tables were sticky. I looked for a napkin to wash the table off, but I couldn't find them in the cafe. I was getting frustrated.  Looked like I would be sitting inside during this beautiful day.  So I chose a seat in the back of the cafe.  There were 50's style Jesus paintings on the walls, such a strange feeling of nostalgia I had while looking at them...

Then he walked in.  Laptop in hand, eyes searching the walls.  My headphones were on and music was blasting. But I caught his attention and motioned to the hanging extension cord at the next table.
I had all the recent albums I purchased spread across my table, my journal was filled with scribbles about the show I had seen the night before.  I immersed myself in my writing again.  Then a tap on my shoulder, he's offering me a bite of his chocolate something or other.  I kindly turn him down with a shake of my head and a smile.  Refusing to take off my headphones and break this amazing creative space I am in.  So 15 minutes later and I am finished my first draft of my blog post.  That's when I come back to reality and realize, he  probably was the reason I was told to come here.

So I started up a conversation to see where it goes.  Turns out he's a digital nomad.  Someone who does his work via the internet and travels wherever he wants supporting himself all the while.  This is exactly what I want to do.  I want to find work that will allow me to travel freely.  Not only is he a digital nomad, but he also hosts a meetup group to help other digital nomads share information and tips on how to do this successfully.  I told him that I need a skill that travels and makes money (I can write, but there hasn't been much money coming in from that). So he asks me: what do you like?
I told him that I love human rights, particularily when it comes to medical situations.  I describe to him my doula work.  Then he says: I'm sorry but I have to interupt you, I just had a flash and I need to show you this:

It was one of his client's websites.  They sell TENS machines and they are looking for sales reps.  You choose your target market, you choose where to sell them.  I could travel anywhere there are healthcare facilities and sell them... And yes that is right up my alley.

After another hour of conversation I had to go, I thanked him for the exchange.  He gave me his email address to keep him informed on how it was going for me.  I haven't emailed him yet, nor have I looked into the TENS sales opportunity.  I feel like I need a year to sort things out, maybe during this year I will begin to look into those options.  I try not to think of obstacles, but there is a fairly large one when it comes to me travelling with my kids.  Making sure they get time with their father.  They are not old enough to fly on their own yet and that only would come into play if their father was willing to change up his schedule with them.  So instead, I am planning a 3-4 week vacation next fall and perhaps a few small excursions in the meantime, just to lightly scratch my travelling itch while my kids get older.

The Diamonds In The Rock

Okay, back to the wild and wonderful world of self-exploration via travel.  In the immortal words of Ani Difranco "I just got kinda....distracted."

For months before I left, my desire was to immerse myself in the St.John's music culture.  I wanted to see a new band every night. I wanted to converse in order to understand how this musical community thrived on an island so harsh and barren it is known as The Rock.

Apparently the answer was in the question; almost every musician/artist I talked to had the same theory, which I am going to use a Dylan Thomas quote to describe:

 "Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

They described the colourful homes as a way to counter the thick St.John's fog.
The music to drown out the gale, and to forget the drowned.
The dancing to prove that their bodies were not still...yet.
Harsh conditions can create such beauty...
And resilience.

It's no secret that Newfoundland is having some serious economical challenges.  With oil prices so low and the over spending by the government during the short lived boom: There is much unrest.  Posters are everywhere in the city, calling the Premier to resign.  Unemployment is rising and those with jobs often need more than one.  Darnell, a thickly accented musical theatre actor, explained to me that he (along with his theatre work) needs two jobs.  He's a chef at a restaurant down the street during the day and a bouncer at a pub at night.

"I know you can't tell looking at me, but I get punched 3-4 times a night... Guess eventually the bruises stop showing up."

A lack of resources is the best way to become resourceful.  That is the grit that you can sense in a Newfoundlander.  Central Ontarians are soft and reserved, in our comfortable food-only-a-few-hours-away towns.  These islanders are hard, wild and beautiful in their expression of rebellion.  They rage like the ocean and unapologetically dance on their watery graves.  Listen to the music of the Newfoundlanders and you will hear the sorrow and the never ending fight.  I give to you this beautiful example from The Fortunate Ones, introduced to me by Alexi, the Coffee Matters, Barista who came out and shared a beer, his musical knowledge and other musings... https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=xj8IlanhTQE 

Goodbye Canes

It is with a strange bitter sweetness that I give away my canes.  I remember when I reluctantly began to use one, I had so much pride, I was so insecure about being seen with it.  The day that I made it all the way up my hill from downtown, I learned that pride had held me back from so much.  What I had originally saw as a symbol of confinement was actually my access to freedom.

Though my legs and vertigo seemed to only get worse and eventually a wheelchair became necessary for many out of home tasks, they paved the way for my acceptance of the wheelchair, or at least for not being embarrassed to be seen in it.  

All trials are teachers, this I believe.  So if I could be candid with those I love, I'd really like to share some first hand knowledge with you:

I don't wish to speak for everyone with an assistive device, but I think it is safe to say this:

We are generally tired and in pain when we are out, that is why we have the assistive device.  It is draining to explain our medical situation to people who sees us, it is also draining to find ways to politely not tell you our medical situation, mostly because we know you are coming from a good place and we do not wish to hurt your feelings.  A simple: Hey how are you? Will suffice.  If we feel like talking about why we suddenly have a cane or wheelchair we will.  Otherwise, please carry on as if nothing is different.  For my part, I was acutely aware of how different things were for me and I really appreciated any sort of normality I could get at that time.

I am so grateful for the lessons I recieved during my time of disability.  I know it's time to let go of my fear of ever needing to hold my canes again.  Faith.  I'm crying right now because I truly have faith in my body to be healthy and strong, and I feel for that woman who was me who thought she may never walk unassisted again.  

I am a miracle.  I forget that some days, but not today.

Lovers Be Warned: St. John's Holds My Heart.

 I was reading one of my posts from my last trip, the one where I woke up and felt the reality sink in that my ex was gone forever.  I was alone, and the thought of that future seemed so daunting.  Immediately afterward I opened my journal to my most recent entry.  It was written at an open mic.  I realized quite suddenly that right now the idea of a future with a romantic partner feels surreal: maybe even impossible.  How could I expect a lover to follow me around the world, or patiently wait until my wanderlust is spent and I fall breathless, exhausted back into his/her bed? Who would want to fall in love with someone whose ultimate goal in life is to leave for weeks at a time? To find intimacy (though not physical) with strangers?
I have been feeling an undefinable inner conflict with my most recent (and very new) relationship, but I didn't understand why I bounced back and forth between wanting to keep it casual and nurturing the possibility of love.  It's because I gave up the life I wanted to be with a man who simply could not travel the way I wanted to.  I won't do that again.   St.John's solidified that for me:

This island with it's steep sloping fjords, covered in trees so wind-battered that they grow entangled with each other to survive... She is like me.  She falls fast and deep yet stands high above sea level, her heart bursting with colour, her pulse the music that drowns out the gale, her light that draws many a sailor into her bay...

Walking downtown I realized that I wanted to possess St.John's; I wanted to call it home, make it mine.  Then a voice says to me: can't you be happy just knowing it exists and that you got to inhabit it, even if just for a week?  That it will continue to exist as you do, even if not in your direct reality?

I realized I need to feel this way about my lovers as well.  The feeling of relief with this thought was overwhelming.  I felt gratitude for those I am blessed to be able to share my love with at this moment, all those in my past who still walk this world, the ones I shared a coffee "moment" with and
those in my future. I have been intimate with so many people over the last year, in conversation, art
and music, though only one physically...Why some of them I am fine with moving on from and others I want to hold onto... This is still a mystery to me.

St.John's is one of those I wish to hold on to.  She was my lover, my mirror image. However, for now, it appears we are simply not meant to be together. I do like to imagine that over the next couple of years I will find a way to be back with my beloved and I will curl myself  into her nooks and crannies while the damp cold winds of winter swirl around her coast.

Miracles in the Mundane

I unzipped the black pull along suitcase. Tiny shells like crumbled crackers were settled in the corners. The smell of ocean flowed over the sides and I leaned in breathing deep. I tried my best to scrape them out with my fingers, but in the end it just seemed right to let the east mingle west on the plane ride home. Perhaps one day a dusting of broken shells from yet another Ocean will be added to the mix. Now I could be finishing my packing, but instead I am drinking Beer at the pub and watching the sunset. I live in a beautiful part of the world. I have good friends and a great community in which to raise my kids. I am blessed. Sometimes I think I want more. Sometimes I try to push too much into a small space. I limit the happiness I feel from what I already have in order to fit in the joy from something new in. Problem is, the joy from the new is fleeting and unstable. I need to keep my gratitude for the miracles that may otherwise become mundane. The mundane is a miracle. We look for grandiose signs; burning bushes, angels and resurrection, but our own chests rise every minute with no conscious effort. Literally more than a miracle every minute takes place inside your own body. People are looking to connect with God, what they don't realize is that they're connected already. They expect God to speak in a big booming voice or in tongues. But God whispers in spinning poplar leaves, rumbles in your heart beat and laughs with thunder. Everything you experience with your senses is God telling you: I am here. I am here. I am here. Faith is answering back: I know. I know. I know. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

To My Dad

Amongst the many articles about rape culture and fathers perpetuating it, I want to take a moment to give a shout out to my dad.  To my father, who taught self defense (which I absorbed via osmosis) to the youth in our community, females and males equally.  While doing so enforcing the idea that no one should touch you without your permission, and vice versa.  To my father who didn't hang mildly pornographic magazines objectifying women in his gym.  To my father who focused on building self confidence via personal challenges and self discipline. To my dad who never uttered a word about women "asking" for it.  To my dad who never used the term "slut" or "whore" when describing a female. The sexual jokes you made (which were rare in my presence) were never degrading towards women.

I didn't realize until I got older, that my father was the exception.  That he was surrounded by a rape culture, yet never perpetuated it in my presence.  So, thank you dad, for being a decent guy and setting the standards for the behaviour I will and will not accept from men in my life.

Tuck That Shoulder

I have this heart, my rib cage has proven time and time again that it is inadequate at keeping it safe from harm. So I carry it up my sleeve.  Sometimes I write it into a journal; abstract and digital, a false vulnerability.  All may view it, but unless you are amazing at code, you cannot touch it.  I quickly stuff it under my pillow as he walks into my bedroom.
Sometimes his hand will graze it in the early morning hours when he tucks his arm under my head.
I have been known to walk around with my heart in my hands, but do not let that cliche fool you, it merely allows me to stash it away quickly at any sign of danger. It's best to know where your heart is at all times.
"Don't fall." He warns me...
Like anyone wants to fall with their most precious cargo held out in front of them...