Reflect: The Year I Actually Lived

We went to Montreal last October, and I was enamoured with Old Montreal. Rob said I would need to be able to walk a lot, but if I could manage it, he would take me back for my birthday this year. That led me to Aquafit. I scheduled myself for three sessions a week and decided I would walk to and from the classes once spring came. That wasn’t the way it worked out, but that was the plan.

Like many of my plans this year, that isn’t what happened. I tried, I really did, but found that, at least in the beginning, I could manage only one class a week. I even walked there or back a few times, but it just left me in pain. I ended up sticking with one class a week. Halfway through the year, my daughter and son-in-law joined my granddaughter and me, so the classes became fun. I still manage only one class a week, but it was enough to make me stronger and get me below the 200 pounds I had been trying to reach for a long time.

A lot of things were like that. One of the hardest lessons of the year was allowing other people to help me. It was strange, really. I loved helping others, including the Outsiders, but I didn’t like asking for help myself. I had to learn how to trust things and people. Sometimes that trust was betrayed, as it was with the Outsiders, but at other times I was extremely grateful for the help I received, especially from Nessa and Dean.

Last October was also my 65th birthday, and that required me to learn a whole new set of rules. Trust me when I tell you that OAS and ODSP are two very different systems, with very different rules. Among other things, I needed to learn how to budget again—not because I had less money, but because I had more. I had no idea how to handle finally having enough to survive and still have a little fun in the process.

Learning to budget again taught me that rigid schedules and the constant recording methods taught to accountants don’t work for me. I had to create my own way of controlling my spending habits.

The year was also full of medical issues and more trips to the hospital than I have made since my chemotherapy. I am learning to listen when my body says it has had enough, but that doesn’t prevent problems with prescribed medications or change the fact that I react badly to THC.

I started taking cannabis to help me sleep and forgot that it could be addictive. It did help, except for the increased depression and anxiety added on top of the depression and anxiety that were already normal for me. Another lesson learned—I just needed to end up in an ambulance before I learned it.

I remember thinking in October that I didn’t have any hobbies anymore and that I had stopped being creative. It’s funny how we remember things we have accepted as true even when they aren’t. Granted, I wasn’t knitting anymore or doing many of the other things I used to do, but I was writing. I was working on a book I had been trying to write for years. I even finished it, only to discover when I began editing that I had lost the plot somewhere along the way.

I put the book aside for a while, but I began writing blog posts again. I also learned how to make Pinterest pins well enough that I gained a few followers and began seeing my pins on other people’s boards. That was real. It was my work, and people liked it. That gave my ego a bit of a boost.

My creativity wasn’t gone, but I thought my curiosity was. It turned out I was wrong about that too. I just needed a new direction.

I found that direction when I came across a pin on Pinterest about the Wander Society. I don’t know where the pin originated, and I can’t recall the author’s name right now. Wandering sounded interesting, but I needed a way to record it because what is a wander except looking for the strange and different?

Cue my phone camera.

I began taking pictures again. It was like rediscovering an old friend and finding a comfortable companion for those walks. And while I still don’t walk to the YMCA for Aquafit, I have walked between 9,000 and 12,000 steps in a day without becoming bored or even noticing how far I had travelled. Walking returned in a new and much more interesting form. I was even able to walk a kilometre a day with Rob during the summer, at least for a few days.

We did a lot of travelling during the warmer months and even went to Calgary for a week. That cost me the return trip to Old Montreal, but it was worth it. I have been to many places and even got lost one day on the back roads near my old home in Buckhorn. My camera has been my best companion. I now seem to have thousands of photographs and so many happy memories.

One thing that emerged that I wasn’t expecting was an increased interest in history—my own history in particular, and the history of buildings and places in general. I think that as we age, we become more concerned with sharing the lives we have lived and recognizing the history of those who came before us.

One thing I am certain of is that, for the first time since COVID, living has become more than just recovery. My horizons have expanded a lot.

Notice: Paying attention to the little things

I thought noticing meant paying closer attention. Maybe it also means letting myself be surprised.

I am good at seeing things most people ignore. I learned early in my life to be aware and pay attention, not because of any abuse or trauma, but because I was very clumsy. Over the years I have managed to get better at not tripping over my own feet when something catches my eye, although apparently there are still limits.

Noticing starts with seeing. A black-and-white bird I don't recognize. A tiny stream almost buried under greenery and hidden by stone. Those are the kinds of things I see. They aren't necessarily important and I don't have to do anything with them. Something catches my attention and, instead of immediately moving on, I stop and look.

I have no lesson for you this week, only a suggestion. Look out your nearest window and slowly look up, down and sideways. Stop when something draws your attention and really look at it. This isn't a quick scan but a slow, deliberate look. Or, if you can, step outside and walk 100 yards in any direction and do the same thing. The point is simply to see what you might normally skip over. That is noticing.

Noticing doesn't have to be directed outward. I am tired today, and that is another way to notice. Turn the same attention toward yourself. Pay attention to the aches and pains, the feel of the fabric against your skin, what feels good and what feels bad. Notice even the things you generally don't pay attention to. Give yourself the same slow attention you just gave the world outside your window.

Calgary gave me plenty of opportunities to practice this. I went to Reader Rock Garden expecting a rock garden laid out on relatively level ground, only to discover that the rocks were actually steps and the garden was vertical. It was a beautiful place, emphasis on beautiful, but definitely not what I expected. I probably wouldn't have seen nearly as much of it if I hadn't been determined to reach the café, which, as it happens, sits about halfway up what felt very much like a rock mountain.

The next day I went to the Calgary Central Library expecting an uninspiring building full of books and things. Instead, I found somewhere I could have explored for hours. Even the building surprised me, with its shape inspired by a Chinook cloud. I was particularly drawn to the fourth floor, with its Indigenous teachings and books, Canadian and world history, and inviting places to sit and read. Did I mention that this place was huge?

Maybe that is what I am learning about noticing. It isn't about searching for something extraordinary. It is about giving the ordinary enough time to become interesting. Expectation tells us what we think we're going to see. Noticing gives what is actually there a chance to surprise us. 

What Rest Looked Like This Week

When I chose Rest as the focus for the first week of August, I imagined a slower week. I imagined staying late in bed, reading, watching TV, all the things that come to mind when you think of rest. That didn't happen.

Instead, I've spent the week getting ready for Calgary. There have been lists to make, things to pack, appointments to remember, laundry to finish, journal pages to complete, and all the ordinary chores that somehow multiply whenever you're about to leave home.

Then there's the housework. Dishes, sweeping, and all those little jobs I usually put off. I hate housework, but I know I'll appreciate coming home to a clean apartment instead of having to deal with it after a week away.

A few days earlier there was also our road trip back to Buckhorn. It wasn't physically restful, but it settled something in me that I didn't know still needed settling. Sometimes the heart rests before the body does.

In many ways the trip was restful, albeit full of memories. Along with the memories came peace in seeing things from my growing-up years that remain true in spirit, like Sandy Lake and Cody Inn. They are cherished memories, and I think that gives peace of mind and, in its own way, rest.

This week reminded me that rest isn't always measured by how many hours you spend in a chair. Sometimes it's measured by how little you're rushing inside your own head.

There were moments.

Standing by the lazy river and allowing its current to sweep away some of my fatigue. The sound of rushing water eases my mind and lets it rest for a little while.

Spending time with my girls and the important men in their lives. I was spending time with loved ones, and that was another reason the day felt restful.

Getting a stack of photos I thought were long gone, including some really old ones from my Dad's album. Looking through them reminded me just how many wonderful places I've been and experiences I've had. They are cherished memories, and I think that gives peace of mind and, in its own way, rest.

Planning and dreaming about spending four days in Calgary, free to explore anything I want without any of the pressures I feel here at home.

Writing in my journal and sharing scrapbook pages of the memories I've collected, hoping they'll mean something to whoever looks at them after I'm gone, instead of simply checking another task off the list. Though there was some of that too.

None of those moments lasted very long, but each one let me breathe a little easier. They let my mind relax and experience what was going on around me without worry or fear.

I've spent much of this year learning that I don't have to earn rest by exhausting myself first. I'm still not very good at believing it, especially before a trip when there always seems to be one more thing that needs doing. But I'm getting better at noticing the small pauses hidden inside busy days. Maybe that's what rest was this week.

Calgary will have its own adventures, its own discoveries, and probably its own tired evenings. I'm hoping I'll find a few more quiet moments there too.

For now, my version of rest is knowing that the preparations are almost finished. Soon, it will be time to go.

Following Curiosity

Most of my walks naturally fit this month's theme without me trying to make them fit. I don't set out thinking, "I need material for the blog." I simply go for a wander or two, and the story appears.

When I looked back over the week, I realized the story wasn't really about the places I visited. I think it's about what an adventure has become for me. It isn't going to BC or Ottawa. Those were the kinds of experiences I thought of as adventures.

 These days, adventure has taken on a different meaning. It might be following my curiosity down an unfamiliar street, noticing something I'd probably walked past for years, checking on a photography project, or realizing that morning glories are appearing all over the city.

Morning glories became part of a project I hadn't expected to begin. At first they were simply beautiful flowers climbing the trees and covering the raspberry bed in the back corner of the garden. I watched them slowly smother the raspberry canes in one corner until nothing else could grow there. That's when I learned that, although beautiful, they can also overwhelm everything around them. While out on one of my walks, I came across a hedge completely covered in morning glory vines and couldn't help wondering if the same thing would happen there. I've started photographing that hedge every couple of weeks to see how the story unfolds.

 Those photographs are becoming a pictorial essay I'm calling Deadly Beauty. I never planned that project. It grew out of simply paying attention.

The same thing happened with a couple of robins. I didn't go looking for them; they found me. Anyone who has ever tried photographing robins knows they rarely stay in one place for more than a few seconds. These two seemed perfectly content to let me stand there taking photographs until I had several I was genuinely happy with. Those photographs have already become more than pictures. They've inspired a journal page and even a writing prompt. Once again, curiosity quietly opened another creative door.

 That's a very different definition of adventure, and I think many of you will recognize yourselves in it. There are so many things to see if we simply spend the time looking. I don't think these discoveries were hidden. They had probably been there all along. I just wasn't paying enough attention to notice them.

As I looked back over the week, it occurred to me that my adventures naturally fell into two groups. There were the larger adventures, like turning down an unfamiliar street just to see where it led. Then there were the smaller adventures—the discoveries that only happened because I'd made that choice in the first place.

Maybe that's the real lesson. Adventure doesn't always ask us to go farther. Sometimes it simply asks us to look more closely.

Today's adventure can be solitary and unplanned, like wandering down an unfamiliar street. Tomorrow's adventure could be shared and planned—a family meal, a movie, laughter, and time together. It is becoming clear to me that adventure isn't one thing. Sometimes it's wandering without a destination. Sometimes it's making time for the people you love. Sometimes it's both.

As I was writing about my week, I found myself thinking that my July theme of Freedom & Play has quietly been present all along. Freedom isn't just choosing a different street to walk down. It's also giving yourself permission to be curious, to linger, to photograph an empty storefront because it means something to you, and to let an ordinary Friday afternoon become part of your story.

Maybe that's the biggest change of all. I used to measure adventure by how far I travelled. Now I measure it by how closely I pay attention.

 So, dear reader, here's an invitation. You don't need to book a holiday or climb a mountain. Your next adventure might begin by taking the long way home, noticing the flowers growing on a neighbour's porch, or turning down a street you've always meant to explore. You may discover, as I have, that the farther you let your curiosity wander, the richer your ordinary days become.