Its never what it seems? Is it.......

Surrounded by mountains, I slid the long, yellow Kayak quickly into the water. What waited for me was a lake of glass, covered in fog, it rolled down from the mountain and I imagined myself being swallowed into it, swept away from the world I'd left behind.  I was alone on the water. with the wind in my hair and  only the sound of my own quiet song keeping time with my paddle. 

So I like to sing sailor songs when I'm on the water and yes the Kayak isn't much like a ship is it? Never the less,  the question, "What does one do with a drunken sailor?" still needs to be answered. I only know like two sailing songs so the sound track does tend to get repetitive. 

Anyway, it was lovely. Thus began my love of Kayaking, in the summer of 2017. Yeah it really just began. 

So I was pretty keen to get my own Kayak, in fact I was dying to. The Summer of 2017 also happened to be one of the busiest summers of life and that dream seemed a little out of reach while I tried to keep the proverbial plates spinning. 

But anyway, I bought one. And the how and why of that situation is not the purpose of this story. So, I bought one Ok? 

Now, I ordered a hand cart on Amazon so that I could move it easily from my driveway to the small lakes in my neighborhood. But, I grew impatient so I just went to a sporting goods store and bought one. 

So I was ready. Overworked, coming off days of rain and stress, a free hour and a break in the clouds. I was so ready.

So I go to the basement, I've got my kayaking gear ready. I've got water and special shoes and music and sun screen and snacks and just ...everything. 

I take out the cart thinking it will be a snap to get it on. 

Obviously, it wasn't a snap. Unless a snap consists of irate mumbling under ones breath, a fist shake at the wordless diagrams  and a general feeling of defeat. As much as I hated to do it, I finally gave up and asked my husband for help. 

So the cart, for the non-kayak-er, rests under one end of the kayak. One then secures it to the kayak using two straps. So we strap the kayak to the cart, my husband gives it a very quick test and tells me to have fun. 

I begin pulling it out the door, but wait, it doesn't fit out the door, I thought it did, it looked like it did, nope, after all that work, it slides off the cart and lands sideways out the door, meanwhile, the cart has made its way down the path. Its almost as if it it doesn't WANT me to use it. 

I resolve in my mind that I am going fix it on my own, I must if I am ever going to be an independent kayak-er. I mean, I try. but I can't do it. So I go back up and get the husband again. After some minor mocking he tries, unsuccessfully to fix it. I suggest we try bungee cords. 

Another time, we agree. 

We carry it to the road. Reattached the cart. And I start back on my way. I made it off my street even. Somewhere along the next street I hit a hill. and that's when things fell apart, literally (see pics). The cart got a flat, the strap came off. So I just stood there, with a broken down kayak in the middle of the street like an idiot. A school bus stopped, some middle school boys snickered as they walked past. I tried to get it back together once but when it fell again, with quite a bang, the neighbor came out and stood in front of their garage to see what the spectacle was about. And their dog was super helpful with its incessant barking. 

So as I said, I stood there like an idiot. I debated what to do. I called the husband again. I asked him for bungee chords. He brought the car, took some pics, and dropped me off by the lake. 

After so much struggle this was it, the maiden voyage. I stopped my push off from shore to take a picture, only my camera had disappeared into the deep crevices of the Kayak, I never did find it. So there is no picture. 

Oh well, I don't need it I thought, I am here to be fully present in this moment, an hour later than I planned. But I am here and nothing can stop me now!

Yeah then it started raining. 

Remember the mountain? The fog, the sailor songs. Remember those times? 

They seem so long ago, in both this story and that day, the day of my struggle August 2017. 

But this is life, isn't it? The awkward stages of learning, the trying and trying again. The idealized and the reality. There is beauty in both. The glory of triumph and the acceptance when we fail to reach perfection. 

I earned the peace that finally came, after the rain stopped and actually after I climbed out of the water. It was the effortless strength of the bungee chords, allowing me to walk home with no further accidents, Kayak in tow, that let me know I'd won. I may have lost my water bottle on the way home, and never found it. But that's ok. I. Did. It.  

Next time, tomorrow actually, it will be easier, and every time after until its habit, until its as easy as home. 

It, life I mean, its never what it seems is it? It rarely meets our expectations, but there is beauty in every stumble isn't there? And when we continue to stumble, when we need help, when we refuse to quit. There is beauty. 

When the highest of highs comes with the lowest of lows

I must admit I didn't realize it had been almost four years since I last wrote in my blog. 

I haven't stopped writing since then but I made it private temporarily and that short break turned into a few years. At the time, a publisher and editor were talking to me about turning it into a book. They were quite interested and considered my humor and failure to take myself too seriously a refreshing take on yet another millennial trying to tell their life story having lived, as of yet, hardly any life. 

After working with an editor and going through several revisions, I quite frankly gave up. He would come back with the same feedback each time he read a new version. He wanted to know more about the world and people around me, things I never bothered to introduce in my writing. But I never could get it quite right because, as much as I love the people and the world around me, the thoughts in this blog were meant to be about me growing as a person, my own development, a tiny space in which I am the leading lady and, only in this blog, am I surrounded by cameos rather than recurring characters. I created it to reflect on my growth as a person, good and bad, and it seemed disingenuous to develop other characters. So, as I stated, I sort of... I gave up. 

And honestly, its fine. Because the world doesn't need another reason to call Millennials selfish and I don't need the world to read this blog either. I decided to bring it back because I've missed having an outlet in which I can recall those precious times when my underwear falls off in public or I find myself caught in a case of mistaken identity.  I want people to read it and laugh, and maybe learn something too, but in the way they were meant to, by peeking inside my inner self, . 

C.S. Lewis says in the most profoundly simplistic way that the highest of highs often come with the lowest of lows. I found this to be true.

While I felt fairly sad that I was never able to publish this book, I have another in the works, one with a legitimate contract and one that is far more important then discussing my time in grad school. 

On the day I defended my Phd dissertation and thus, became a PHD, I walked out to my car and found, in the moment of my greatest exaltation, I had received a parking ticket.  And that seemed about right.  As far as lows go, it could have been worse. 

On the day of my graduation party, a day I had been anticipating and planing for years, it snowed and the whole thing was cancelled. And that seemed about right. But I had the party any way a few days later. 

On the day I broke my own swim time at the gym and I burst from the water in triumph, I found myself alone in the pool with a guy who was putting on socks in the water. So I had to make an exit. And that seemed about right. 

I have come to expect this balance of life, and I no longer fear it. 

Four years brings an awful lot of growth in a person and I look forward cataloging at least some of it here. 

The Adventures Continue...

I suddenly remembered I'm 27 and its ok not to have my entire life figured out....... and other adventures

Millennials have been catching a lot of flack for the fact that their sense of entitlement has caused them to "expect" they will do something totally awesome and amaze their chosen field, which they will of course already have figured out, while in thier 20's. What experts and the peanut gallery often fail to acknowledge is that this creates an unparalleled amount of pressure for the individual. Suddenly every choice I make must COUNT, every relationship and career move must be exceptional and one step in the wrong direction could mean I've already hit the point of no return. 

Its EXHAUSTING. 

As I witness the end of my graduate career, for real this time, I am suddenly overwhelmed by the pressure to  reach my full potential.Tomorrow. 

Sure, I've been putting in a lot of extra time building up my CV (resume to those of you not in the know) and its pretty impressive for someone who has yet to leave school. 

But now, the security blanket of Grad school is about to be yanked away. I'll be standing on my own and wherever I'm standing it better be AWESOME. 

This reminds me of a story.....

Earlier this week I was on my way to an interview to a job I really didn't want. On some anxiety fueled, midnight job hunt, I applied for a job directing a University Counseling Center. My ideal position, I thought. I thought little about it until they called to interview me two months later.

The first interview could not have been more awkward, I had just returned from dental work and I didn't realize it was an interview until the end when I was asked when I would like to set up the second one. 

So the second phone interview consisted of me asking a list of questions and, apparently they liked what I had to say so they invited me in for a final interview. 

There was just one problem, I knew I didn't want the job.

While seemingly a perfect fit, it was the little things about it that threw up the red flags. When I thought about all the things I'd have to give up to take it, something in me cringed. 

But then, the exceptionalist pressure set it. What this was as good as it was going to get? What if turning this job down meant that I was meant to settle into mediocrity for the rest of my life? Couldn't I just try it on for a bit, I could put my goals on hold for a little while right? I should be happy to have an offer like this when seemingly the rest of the 27 yrs olds out there are struggling to get out of mom and dads house. This was an impressive position for someone my age, I could be EXCEPTIONAL.

So as I drove to the interview, I prayed that God would give me a sign, a BIG one either way so that I wouldn't make a choice that would set me on a life-long wrong trajectory. Right after I prayed that I passed a motel with a lit-up sign that said "Yes." I decided to shelf that for later. 

I felt horribly awkward in my interview clothes, I always do. My professional attire consists of blazers or cardigans and nice denim. I work in colleges, it fits.I made a mental note to go out the first chance I get and find some interview clothes that dont make me look 50.

I found a parking lot and got out to look at the map, it was caked in mud. I took that as NO. So far the yes/no ratio was at an even 1-1. The campus was beautiful though, like a movie, one more for the yes. As I was walking around struggling to breathe thanks to a lingering cold, I realized I was in the  wrong place. Irritation=No in my book so we were back at an even 2-2. I made it to the interview 5 minutes late and for 30 minutes answered questions like I was taking my state board all over again. No big sign that this wasn't the place for me, just a quiet feeling like something was amiss. On my way out, I found I had been given a "ticket" (nice try campus security, let me know when you become a real officer) for parking in a VISITOR parking spot without a permit. Lame.

And that was the third strike.

It wasn't really all those things and I never got that giant sign from God, like a call from my dream job waiting for me when I got back in the car. What I did get was a still small voice letting me know this wasn't it and an overwhelming feeling of trust that what was it, is out there. 

I was reminded as I sat in the totally uncomfortable outfit on an awkward sofa that at 27, it really is ok that I don't have everything figured out and I don't have to take the first salaried position I'm offered just so I can look like I have it all together. I'll just keep working my three part time jobs and I'll be on the look out for the right thing, actively, until it comes along. Who I am now isn't who Ill be in twenty years or even ten and there's no guarantee that putting myself on the right "trajectory" will put me where my 50 year old me wants to be. 

I gave myself permission to say no and to put off showing the world how awesome I am for a little longer and it really is OK. I don't have to buy into the "exceptionlism" and expect it all to fall into my lap. I am perfectly content to continue paying my dues until I work my way until I'm where I want to be. 

At 27, I've barely begun to know who I am as an adult, let alone as a life-long professional. So I'm going to strike out on my five year goals only, not be afraid of hard work and expect nothing greater than mediocrity, for now. 

Making the Home Lights Bright

Undoubtedly, one of the unfortunate dilemmas of youth is the overwhelming desire and energy to "Go" and the inadequate supply of funds to do it. I can't complain, I get to travel quite often yet it seems I never get to go where I really want to go.

I'm not quite sure where that is but if I close my eyes it looks like the Shire, Prince Edward Island and Paris rolled into one.

Sometimes, I can sit for hours listening to "Bright Lights and City Scapes" imagining where I'll go but for now, this week, I'm still here.

So I worked on making the home lights brighter, content to be here even if I am alone.

So I decided to try out my handy-women skills. Thankfully, my ends justified my means because the road to success was both broken and bloody. I choose not to let the multiple bruises, blood or broken ceiling fans deter me and, in the end, I was successful.

I cooked almost everyday.

I read a book for pleasure and tossed deadlines to the wind.

I talked to my dog.

I laughed with friends and had meaningful conversations by moonlight on the porch swing.

I got ice cream on rainy days and brought some home to my dog.

I stayed up till 2am with my part-time roomie eating pizza on top of a file cabinet promising to only watch "one more episode" of our favorite show.

I played piano at any time the whim struck.

I looked through pictures and cards I collected and treasured the memories, happy or sad.

A funny thing happened then, the feeling to "Go" and see it all wasn't quite so unbearable. The lights were bright when I came back each night and there was a that true feeling of "Home" that seems to be missing when I'm here alone.

The outside world seemed especially harsh last week, the days seemed to cycle between extreme pity parties and the intensely awkward.

Most times, I don't seek out the adventures, they seem to find me but this week, I created my own, right here at home in the most pleasant of ways. Whether I woke up the next day with unidentifiable bruises or found myself alarmingly covered in puzzle pieces (unnoticed until I entered the bathroom) or discovered, yet again, that I had put my clothes on inside out, the adventure at home, the small alone kind, were the ones  I looked forward to most.

“The power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.” 
― Louisa May Alcott

Its not You...... Its Me....No Really

Sitting in a very hot plane, waiting to take off.

Minutes pass......

Finally the LAST passenger makes it onto the plane.

More minutes pass.....

The flight attendant makes an announcement, "The plane is overweight, would anyone like to volunteer to stay behind in exchange for a free voucher?"

Everyone looked around at each other but not one volunteered. This was an international flight that only flew once a week, on Sunday.

Finally, the flight attendant called a name. The women, who just happned to be the LAST passenger to board stood up.

"The plane is overweight and someone is going to have to go and well........ ITS YOU."


and that's how that ended.


It wasn't that this woman was morbidly obese, in fact she was rather small. There wasn't anything fundamentally wrong with HER, it was the plane that had the issue. The plane could not sustain her weight, not because she was inherently heavy, it was because the plane was overloaded.

When I used to feel the need to cut someone out of my life, I more than often attributed it to something THEY had done or how THEY were but, in this solitary adventure of  maturing (an often exhausting one I might add), what I'm finding is its ME that has the issue.

With the exception of the occasional borderline or co-dependant in my life, what I've found is that the reason I feel the need to cut them out is not  inherent in THEM its that I can't handle it.

William Glasser explains this in his book "Choice Theory." The reason we get so frustrated and unhappy sometimes is because we're trying to control what someone else is doing. We want them to meet our expectations and they won't/don't/can't.

So what I've come to see is, even though its cliche, its not them with the issue, its really is ME! They might be able to live with themselves the way they are but I can't! I can't handle the fact that they are willing to be sub-par or refuse to better themselves or communicate more clearly or more often. I find the way they talk invalidating or their lack of self-awareness infuriating. Their unwillingness to give me what I think I need in our friendship or their inability to discern it is devastating. Yep, those are all my issues.



Maya Angelou said "The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them." I have NO right to expect anymore from them. Of course, if you are in any kind of relationship with anyone you should communicate your needs to them but, after you've clearly communicated and made sure they heard you, if they don't make steps to give you what you need, then its only fair to assume that they are going to continue on EXACTLY how they are. At that point, the inevitable hurt or disappointment that comes when they fail to meet my expectations is really my own fault because they have PROVEN to me that they aren't going to meet my expectations. I am holding them up to a standard I have no right to hold them to.

So when I get ready to toss someone off the plane, its because I'm overloaded, not because they are necessarily too heavy. I'm not ok with how they are but THEY are. My choices are, change my attitude and accept them as they are or toss them off the plane.

Tossing them off is ok. If a plane takes off overloaded, its likely to crash. Its ok for me to say "I CAN"T HANDLE THIS!" and ask them to step off the plane but, in doing so, I have to be willing to acknowledge the problem often lies in my inability to stop wanting to control them. So now I know, a lot of times when I have to ask someone to leave my emotional plane, its because I can't not want to control them. I can't stop myself from expecting them to be different or better.

So yes, its not you, its me. Really.

P.S. I did put in the caveat about Borderlines and Co-dependants. There are more of those than you think. In that case, its not me, It IS THEM and they know it.

Faking It

So our class was supposed to meet in the Library that particular evening and I forgot my student ID.

Without it there is no entrance into the Library, well not unless you leave your drivers licence. The security is  tight at the library to say the least because of course we wouldn't want the uneducated masses trying to break in and learn something.

So the location of my ID is currently undetermined and was the same that very night. The disorganization of anything in my possession once again came back to haunt me.

So I left my licence with the security guards, hesitantly, and was left with a parting warning that I MUST be out of the library by 6:30pm.

Once upstairs, in the classroom, I informed my fellow classmates and professor of my plight. What to do, What to do. One classmate generously offered the loan of her ID, I could  just pass as her.

So I went back downstairs and collected my licence. I exited the North entrance of the library, like a fugitive and returned at the South entrance where I swiped my friend's Id. The whole time I'm envisioning being questioned by the security guards, getting in some freak accident where I am identified wrongly by the ID I'm carrying, or being a part of some criminal investigation in which I am questioned as to my whereabouts on such and such day and the proof is not in my favor because I LIED. I made my way back to class, head down, collar up, hands in pockets, channeling the spirit of Carmen San Diego.

Rules. Obviously I rarely break them. Five minutes in and out and I was a nervous wreck.

I had every right to be there, I am a paying student with no outstanding library fees and yet, I felt like an impostor. I felt like I was waiting for the moment when someone would discover I wasn't who I claimed to be and didn't belong. I waited for the library G-men to bust in and take me out.

So this is getting to be a pattern.

When you start getting older you find yourself in all kinds of new roles and though you are somewhat ready for them, they are kind of like new shoes with a little room to grow. Each time you show up, you worry that someone is going to realize you don't really belong there. Somone's going to figure out you're too young, too silly, too under qualified, too different, too random, too trendily dressed (hey this is a list of irrational fears, better name them all), too distracted.

Taking on these roles often feels like pretending to be someone else. I check myself at the door and sneak in under the guise of a different identity.

So when people yell at you to wait in the hall or refuse to tell you where the faculty mailboxes are because they assume you're a student, you find your fears confirmed.

But this is part of the transition. Its taking off your training wheels so you can learn to ride without them, not because you already can. IT IS taking on a new identity because you're expanding who are but remembering your job is not your identity, at least not all of it.

Sometimes we have to fake it not for other people, because, on paper, we do belong, we're qualified and we've proven that. Sometimes we fake it for ourselves, we don't yet feel validated or at home in these new parts of identity so we "pretend" until we do. We fake it until we understand these are new parts of who we are, and we begin to feel comfortable in a new skin.

I don't know that there's a nice wrap up answer to this one,I think its part of the process of getting older, and change.

So as long as my students talk to me in the elevator like I'm one of them on the first day of class and as long as I'm leading people who have years of life on me, I'll be adjusting.

At the end of the day, I'll probably trip over something and end up with a bruise anyway. Its what brings me back to reality and reminds me I'm still Melanie, carrying someone else's ID or not.

Finding Closure

I should have known it was coming. From the very moment I saw him in the pet store.

But I had to have him.

He was simply irresistible with his large, deep eyes and his chubby cheeks. His head was too large for his tiny fish body and his malformed fins that could barely keep him underwater. He wore a permanent frown. That's how I knew he was the fish for me. I had to rescue him from his run-of-the-mill pet store life and show him all the world had to offer to a goldfish (a private bowl and regular feedings).

Even though he seemed happy, every morning  I would rush to check his bowl, bracing myself for the inevitable. There he would be, happily swimming around or hiding under his friend, the filter hose.

I worried when I caught him eating the filter. I worried when he blankly stared at the side of the bowl. When I caught him sucking on the rocks on the bottom of the bowl, I knew, deep down, it was the beginning of the end.

When I heard the gurgling noises emitting from the bowl, I figured he was just hanging out at the top of the water again.

When I woke up from my nap, he was gone and I cried. He may have only been a goldfish but, as Dr.Suess would say, "A person's a person no matter how small."

Even though I knew it was coming, I wasn't fully prepared and, when the inevitable struck, I found myself lacking appropriate closure. Perhaps it was for the best he went quickly instead of slowly fading.

Life often happens this very way. People, or seasons, come in our lives and we do everything we can to hang on to them because we know, inevitability, they will leave or the season will end. The tell tale signs are everywhere but rather than prepare ourselves for the impending end, we live in denial and convince ourselves that they or it (or a goldfish) are forever.

When the fallout inevitably comes, we aren't ready. We wish for more time to do better, do different, say what wasn't said or somehow unsay what was. As humans, we fail horribly at closure because we fear the end.

Finding closure internally can't come from someone else. I've asked countless clients what they are looking for when they say they want "closure." Sometimes its an apology, an explanation or an aknowledgement. In all those individuals, I've never found one who got what they wanted and were satisfied.

 Closure is often a lonely process where WE forgive, WE accept without explanations and WE acknowledge we don't need someone else to validate our existence.

When losing a goldfish, though ones heart breaks, closure is quickly reached. Other times its not so simple as saying a farewell over the symphony of a flushing toilet.

Gerber's death is not in vain. It is a reminder to accept seasons as they come.

So, if you see your friend sucking on  a rock or seeking daily shelter under a giant, plastic tube, say what you need to say before its too late.

Seeking closure, the ongoing plight of the human existence.