life with an ostomy. candid, not sugar-coated. empowered, not embarrassed.

Apr. 30, 2010

Life comes from death

I am doing surprisingly well. I feel able to look beyond, on bob my way on through some pretty intense things today. I feel like there's even some kind of cosmic beauty in it all.

When I woke up this morning, I was already feeling the weight of a bunch of little setbacks. Like my dismal effort with choir - being the only member who has not only not learned by heart a very complicated piece... I didn't even recognize it when everyone else was bursting with the song! And God! on Monday, I learned that seven video interviews I'd done for the oral history project had no sound! Bloody hell! And I was feeling so stressed about the job I have come to hate, and stressed about not having heard back from the museum guy still. oh, and then there would be that little gem of a comment from my last post, something about my writing being a bunch of drivel and my life being pathetic. Read for yourself. ...or if it was you that wrote that... buddy, do you need a hug? It didn't actually bother me that much, I am just trying to looking for hard evidence of how crummy I felt. I am also really missing my boyfriend, who is still out of the country for more than two weeks.

Nothing too crazy, huh? Just life.
But in my journal-writing this morning, I found myself writing tonnes and tonnes of stuff about continuing. Onward! Because I have no choice! Continue! Even though I just didn't want to muster the energy, and don't know what anything will amount to, I will continue.

I think that got me through the day... through my panic when I lost my wallet - my Visa, my money I had just taken out of the bank machine, my birth certificate, SIN card, all my ID, etc... AND I also lost my notebook for the reporting I do... I had notes from three different unwritten stories in there. That all happened when I was on my way to see my counsellor, who I was determined to discuss an exit strategy with for the job I hate. A couple hours earlier I had been to a harmonica lesson where I basically outlined how miserable I was with the job and how I just had to quit, but had no idea what was next. And then I went to a local elementary school to get a comment for an article I am writing. When I left, on my bike, I guess my backpack was not properly closed, and somewhere between my hood and where my counsellor is, my bag opened up and my wallet and notebook fell out. After going over the whole route four times, I couldn't find anything. No trace. Not even a crumpled up, tire-marked notepad. Nothing. Gone.

So I was panicked about having lost that stuff, but also panicked because I wanted to quit my job and was relying so heavily on my counsellor's guidance, but I had to scrap the appointment as soon as I saw her because of my missing wallet and notes. As I was going back and forth over the route, and feeling so charged... I knew what I had to do - just quit my job! It just rose up within me with certainty! I had to!

What was brilliant was when I got back home, I got an email from the museum guy telling me I was, in fact, getting the money for my project! So... I made the decision to quit without having my counsellor hold my hand, and without the safety net of new income. The universe delivered. I also asked the guy at the flower shop downstairs if I could borrow some money and we ended up having a really good talk, mostly about corruption, and he even gave me a bouquet of flowers! He also convinced me to sit with my convictions about quitting until tomorrow... and quit then, calmly and confidently.

And what was beautiful?? Well, I know it's in there somewhere. The beauty has something to do with losing my wallet and feeling okay. I mean, it's so symbolic of my identity. My identity... so rooted in that birth certificate, which is now... who the hell knows where? It reminds me of an anecdote I read about some kind of plant recently... how the tall mother plant died but its offspring, which came up from it's roots were healthy and thriving some distance away.

I don't need my original birth certificate for a secure sense of identity. I will keep thriving with its death. And the death of so much else. Over time.


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