Out of office set.
Log out, close tabs, take a breath.
It’s vacation time.
As of this evening, I’m officially on holiday. I love my work, don’t get me wrong, but I’m also excited for a change of pace. I can’t wait to spend the next two weeks wandering through world-class museums, sampling delicious new foods, and soaking up a culture that is different than I own.
Writing is great, but so is doing. I love to travel. I love to meet new people and learn new things.
Travel and other experiences give us things to write about. They fuel our imaginations, spark our creativity, and feed the hunger for knowledge that burns inside of each of us.
Goodbye, for now,my friends. I will see you all in two weeks time. My next blog post will be published the week of September 23rd.
Logs crackle and pop
Here we gather, food and friends.
Stories and laughter.
Campfires are magical. Once we relied on them to keep us warm and cook our food. Since humanity was young campfires have acted as anchors to our gatherings. Together we feast, tell stories, sing, and are merry. In an era of ovens and furnaces, campfires may seem anachronistic, but they still hold their magic.
They cast a spell over us, bringing us closer as we face each other and turn our backs to the darkness.
Music blares, hearts race.
Clipped in, we pedal faster.
I went to my first Spin class this week, and it was nothing like what I expected. Blaring music, flashing lights, and a pumped-up atmosphere made it feel more like a rave than a fitness class.
Our instructor was thin (as expected), and very peppy. She led us through the routine effortlessly, her ponytail swinging wildly in time to the music as she coaxed us through the various trials. She had to shout over the music, but her voice was never angry. She encouraged us. Our success felt like her success. Spin class is so much more than just cycling: its weightlifting and aerobics while affixed snuggly atop a bike.
I honestly wasn’t truly prepared for how involved this class was going to be. There were times when I felt divorced from my body, and there were times when I felt every single fiber of my being cry out for me to stop and rest.
The experience was almost trancelike. You forget your worries and your cares. All your attention is fixed on your teacher, following their moves as best you can as you push yourself as hard as you can go. The class was 45 minutes long, but it simultaneously felt like a second and an eternity.
It was exhilarating, and it was exhausting. I can see why some people love it, and I can see why some people hate it. I haven’t formed a solid opinion yet. I want to go back, and simultaneously dread the thought of going back.
I would call it a love/hate sort of relationship, but to be honest, it isn’t a relationship yet. It was a date, and I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to call again.
Worshipers of written words.
Here to pay homage.
This weekend I will be volunteering at a literary festival, and I am so excited! Literary festivals are a great way to learn about new books, learn more about writing in general, and share your passion for books with others.
Reading tends to be a solitary act, so it can be difficult sometimes to reach out and meet other fans in real life. Literary festivals, book signings, and other literature related events can be found in almost every city, so I strongly encourage you to find one in your area. You never know, you might just make some new friends.
A river of words,
Fingers like lightning
Some days the words just come. They pour out of you like an endless river, and your fingers almost can’t keep up. There are so many ideas swirling around in your head you have trouble keeping them organized.
After a creative drought, this unexpected storm can be almost overwhelming. You want to save it, to cherish this flow of endless ideas. But you can’t. Soon the river will slow, then perhaps run dry. You can’t save your creativity for tomorrow, so instead embrace it. Dive deep into this well, and savour it.
Tomorrow it may be gone again.
It’s leaves stretch upwards
Drink in sunlight, sip some rain.
Sometimes I envy plants. Their lives are so uncomplicated: They drink water, soak up sunlight, and grow.
Other times I pity plants. Their lives are so small, their dreams non-existent. All they do is drink water, soak up sunlight, and grow.
Do plants get stressed? Do they worry about the lack of rain, the poor quality of the soil, their overbearing neighbours? Do they grumble about the cold wind, and wonder how their children are doing?
They don’t have the same worries that we do. They don’t know about love or friendship. They don’t have artistic pursuits or make alliances. They never experience loss, or heartbreak. They never know what it is to fail at something. If a plant fails at being a plant it is dead, and beyond such thoughts even if it ever had them to begin with.
Sometimes I wish I was a plant, content with a small life full of small persuits. But I never will be, and soon the feeling fades.
Then I go back to following my dreams.
Logs crackle and burn.
We laugh, marshmallows in hand.
Spark in the darkness.
Ever since I was a child I have loved firepits. From my grandparent’s backyard to Girl Guide camp having a fire was a magical experience. We would all gather around, roast marshmallows and hotdogs, tell stories, and reminisce.
A fire pit is, to me, an essential part of summer. It brings us together in a way no other gathering does. As the darkness falls we settle in, swapping stories and laughing. It should be like any other gathering with friends and family, but there is something about it that is distinct. It has its own flavour, a different coloured threat in the tapestry of our relationships.
So if you can, grab some friends and a couple of logs. I hope you have a good time.
Fix the problem. Save the day.
Humble tech wizards.
This poem was inspired by my boyfriend Kevin, who helps me keep my website and my computer running smoothly.