Saturday, December 31, 2011

I told a friend that maybe 2012 would be the year that I didn't push myself to keep going until I stumbled down dead from exhaustion, as I feel like I've been doing for the past two years. I felt it particularly the past few days while I admitted defeat at the hands of a cold.

It's New Year's Eve. It's my first New Year's Eve in Toronto. But I'm staying in and forgoing celebrations because I'm not well enough, and I'm starting on the whole not pushing myself to exhaustion resolution a little early. Little sad because I had plans—and I've not had Plans for years—but it's an arbitrary declaration date. (A widely accepted one.) We'll save the celebrations for the lunar new year and let 2011 tiptoe out quiet as it came in.

I went home for Christmas, and it was strange. It had only been about four and half months, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. (To be fair, it feels like I've lived and died several lives this year.) Maybe it's Toronto. Maybe EST just has more space for cramming things into it than PST does. I don't know. Maybe it's the growing and stretching and bone-breaking to heal properly that big changes bring.


I was sitting in the airport on the twenty-third, waiting to board the flight to Vancouver, when I received news that I'd officially have a job until April 1st. Which is good, because I feel like I'm starting to get a grasp on what I do while I know there's still so much more I can learn. Been around long enough to know an opportunity when it's presented, and I have a fine one here that I am very grateful for.

The way that I had dealt with the move was to call it temporary. It was less frightening if I didn't have to think of it as long-term. And that's a bad habit that I've developed over the past few years—not treating things like they're temporary, but treating things like they don't deserve the chance to be long-term. Like they're time-passing placeholders until my life starts again.

Because I did a lot of time-passing. A lot of waiting. The thing about optimism is that we forget it doesn't mean sitting on our hands waiting for good things, it means going out and finding them. We find what we seek, and I've decided that I sought stories of discontentment for long enough.

I think life started back in August, when I stumbled into Toronto with two suitcases and a countdown in my head of how long until I left. I don't know who that countdown was really for, because I like it here. I like my job. I like the people I work with, and I like that there are people to spend time with and things to do and I can get to where I need to go on my own... and if I'm staying in, I like that it's because I've chosen to stay in.

There are things I don't like, and things that aren't perfect, but that's everywhere. The good outweighs the bad. Tonight, I hover at that halfway mark between begun and completed, halfway out of the dark with the daylight growing, and it's ok that there are so many, many things to do because there's a whole new year to do them... and they can wait until tomorrow.

Tonight there is quiet, and tea, and the blissful glorious doing of nothing more than healing and regrouping. Thanks, 2011; I think it best we part here, amicably as we can, and go our separate ways.