Feel good. Feel less bad. Feel right.

Feeling good is not the opposite of feeling bad. They’re independent of each other.

In an atmosphere of growth.

Still reading ‘The Happiness Project’, and I LOVE Gretchen’s happiness mission statement (or formula as she calls it). Gretchen, can we be best friends?

It all makes sense. But something is nagging me. Has been nagging me for quite some time. The whole feeling right part. Feeling right is all about being true to yourself and true to your dreams. It’s about where you live, what you do, and whether or not you abide by your moral compass. And so much more than that. I wonder if that is what is broken inside of me. I’m not living where I should be or where I want to be. I’m not in a career that I love. I’m not inspired. I’m not passionate. So… how do I confront this? Finding a new career is a huge risk. Jared doesn’t want to move. We just bought a house. How do I balance the glaring fact that I am not living/feeling right with real life limitations? I have to consider the financial impact, I have to consider Jared, I have to consider that maybe I’ll land on my ass and fail. And if I need to go against feeling right for a little bit is there anything I can do to feel right with what I have currently? Does having a 5 year plan to change careers and move away balance out the fact that right here isn’t right and right here isn’t happy. Can I make it right and happy for now? And how? I really admire those who have stepped outside of their comfort zone and took the jump to entrepreneurship or travelling the world or just losing the safety net. There is something inside of me that has always felt that this was my path… to do something big and scary, to be true to who I am. Is that something that lives within everyone?

Paraphrasing more of Gretchen’s findings she says that if you do new things you’re more apt to feel happy than if you were to stick with more familiar things. The unfamiliar and unexpected are important sources of happiness. New things  make the passage of time slower and richer. No violin lessons or salsa dances for me she says. No matter what the experts said.

Yes, Gretchen, yes!  Every time I try to repeat an experience I’ve had previously it’s never as good as the first time I’ve experienced it. But, sorry, I’m dead set on the violin lessons. And singing lessons. It’s going to be a part of my happiness project. And Jeremy, where do you go when you play guitar? Can I go there?

New places. I need to explore new places and try new things. I need to go to Africa and do my first Safari. I’ll add that one to my happiness project for sure! Sometimes when I think about seeing an elephant in its own habitat I cry.

Gretchen is articulating my every passing thought and legitimizing my internal voice that has been screaming at me for years.

I cannot wait to piece together the framework of my own happiness project with measurable goals.

She also talks about the fun of failure. I REALLY appreciate that she addressed the things she failed at. It’s not something people talk about a lot. And it was reassuring to hear that she was pretty ok with some of the things that just didn’t work out. I feel stunted sometimes by my own fear of failure and oftentimes I don’t even try just to guarantee I won’t fail. Like I love the idea of packing paper bag lunches and hot chocolates and giving them out to beggars on the street. I always think about the fact that I can’t help them when they ask for change, because I don’t have change. I only have a visa. But what if I dropped off some food and hot chocolates? Would it go over well? Would I learn more about who they are and how they came to be what I see as just beggars on the street? Would I learn their names? And then some day would it become bigger than me? Would I solve homelessness in Calgary?! Okay… back to reality self. But seriously, my fear of rejection has completely turned me off of the idea. What if they don’t want my lunches? What if they yell at me? There is this one older guy who is always at the same place at the same time almost everyday in the plus 15 that takes me from my work to the food court. I’m always pumped on the days I have change so I can give him a few bucks. He has a really long beard and hair, and his clothes always look pretty worn in. One day I noticed his beard and hair were trimmed up, and his clothes were clean. On my way by him I wanted to tell him I thought he looked great and that I noticed the changes. I thought about it the whole way to the food court. What if he snaps at me for talking to him? Am I being patronizing? Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut. But then 20 minutes later I had gotten up the courage to tell him I thought he looked nice. I was so pleased with myself, but was still bothered with the question… why is he asking for money? What does he need? Does he have family? Is he okay? Two dollars and an awkwardly spewed compliment just didn’t seem like enough. I always think of him as Joe in my head. Sometimes I day dream about becoming friends with Joe.

I know I’m all over the place blog, but I think I’m getting closer to sorting out what you’re becoming and the theme of what you will be. Not yet, not tomorrow, but soon. I feel it on the horizon. I hate not having order. There has to be a clear pattern so this pains me more than it does you. We’ll get there blog, in time we will get there.


Which brings me to my next item of discussion.

On my journey of having a proper mid-life crisis I’ve been watching a lot of Netflix documentaries. So of course I finally worked up the courage of watching Audrey and Daisy. I spent 3 hours crying my eyes out (yes, I know I cry a lot) at the injustice that these girls had to go through. I know I keep eluding to the fact that I was in an abusive relationship and it was bad… very bad. Because this abusive relationship completely and utterly propelled me into who I am now it often eclipses an older, but just as terrible if not worse experience. When I was 14 I was raped. I drank for the first time, and not only did I drink, but I finished off a whole 6 pack of beer and at the time was probably less than 100 pounds. I was so drunk that at one point I convulsed and smashed my head off a mug and it smashed into a hundred tiny pieces, but if didn’t hurt at all. An 18 year old boy I had just met that day ended up carrying me out to a field and I think he raped me. I’m not even positive I lost my virginity but I know he tried. I used to laugh about it. I would make inappropriate jokes about having sex, because sex was no longer a sacred thing. But it wasn’t funny. I ended up telling my parents. I saw my dad cry for the first time, and while I tried to cope and come to terms with what happened to me I could often hear my mom crying in her room. They sent me to therapy (and didn’t run it through their group benefits plan, because they did not want anyone to find out I was going to therapy… let that fucked-upness marinate with you for a little bit), because I nose dived into a deep and dark depression. My therapist was taken aback by how flippant I was about being raped. My boyfriend at the time harbored ill feelings toward me for not saving my virginity for him. I have a picture of me in grade 10 riding a little bay mare and that same picture is in my photo album beside a note that says she saved my life. She probably did. I spent the following year throwing myself into riding. I showed for the first (and last) time. I spent 10 hours a day at the barn. When night would set in I would sit in the paddock and tell her and Maximum all of my secrets. I’d race around the track and forget everything in the world except us. Spirit, Lacey, Maximus… I carry them with me. I was drowning, and they helped me fly.

I digress. What I really want to point out here is that this shit happens. It happens a lot and it gets swept under the rug and we grow up blaming ourselves. For me, I grew up with the notion that sex wasn’t special, it wasn’t sacred… to me it was a joke. I slept around and a lot of pain and regret resulted from my flippant attitude towards sex. And because I didn’t value the full scope of what sex could be and what it could mean I found myself in a lot of dicey situations with boys or men that also had no respect for what sex was supposed to be, and I found myself saying yes in situations where I wanted to say no, because saying no means no might not work, and saying no can turn simple sex into something more sinister like rape. And if that happens your mom cries for a month and you get sent to therapy in secret and the world falls apart. So you say yes, because he isn’t taking no for an answer. Rape is highly UNfuckingCONVENIENT.

When it finally got to be too much I pressed charges against my ex, and it WAS inconvenient and scary. It nearly broke me in half, but I did the right thing, because when I was a timid and terrified 14 year old I kept my mouth shut and you know what? He raped another girl not even a year later. And I will forever carry that shit with me. I’m sorry to that girl that I never had the privilege to know or meet. And I’m sorry I didn’t speak up. I hope you’re doing okay.

I really digress now.

Watching Audrie and Daisy made me so insanely proud. Despite the injustice that these girls experienced they spoke out about it! Not in some anonymous blog, but on a documentary in person available to the whole world! And lets make this a conversation! Lets talk about this. You are not alone. And the shit that happened to you is fucked up and you have nothing to be ashamed about. Nothing. The world will re-victimize you, but someday with your voice and with mine we’ll change everything. And the burden of the truth isn’t just on your shoulders. It’s on our shoulders and we will carry it together.

I’m not ashamed anymore. This is for Audrie and Daisy. This is for all of you. I am so sorry. I know the truth feels like a burden. People will question it. The people you trust most might re-victimize you. Find something to keep you alive. Find a support network. Find strength in not being alone. Don’t let it kill you, don’t let it cheapen sex, don’t let is poison you. I’m here for you.