On Balance

Oh, poor neglected little blog.  Here you've sat with nary a post to be had for months on end.

The thing is, I've been kinda busy.  Actually, really busy.

At the beginning of 2013, I set myself a number of goals.  One of them involved increasing my participation in quality, challenging musical productions.   It's been wonderful to actually accomplish that:  with Assassins, Spamalot, Brief Encounters and A...My Name is Alice.  But, I'm tired.  Between rehearsals, shows, one-off concerts and performances, learning how to play ukulele and accordion in record time, my passion is beginning to feel like...well, work.    And some of the other goals I had set for myself, with regards to my health, my professional growth, my relationships with friends and family, have suffered as a result of this focus on performance.

So, in the name of balance, it's time for a break.  At least until the end of the year.  I want to see how it feels when I have to choose what I do in the evening, rather than simply consulting my rehearsal schedule to see where I have to be, and when.  To read a book.  Take a dance class.  Cook a meal.  Have tea with a friend.  Pet my cat.  Re-align some of my priorities.

So, watch this space.  Hopefully I'll have some new adventures to report, soon.

Birthday Weekend Update

All I wanted for my birthday this year was some family time.  So on my birthday, June 29, Alex and I went on an overnight camping/hiking trip to Sidney Spit, on Sidney Island, and then I headed to Victoria for a backyard barbecue/campfire with my family the next evening.  Alex and I topped the weekend off with a hike up Mt. Finlayson on Canada Day in 40 degree heat, which I admit was a bit ridiculous and not that fun.  But, we did it anyway.  I spent Canada Day evening in an air conditioned theatre watching The Great Gatsby with Roger and Elizabeth, which was a nice rest after trudging up hot rocks all day.  All in all, it was a perfect birthday weekend.

My gear.

Alex's gear.  Note: we had to carry this all a kilometre into our campsite from the Sidney Spit dock.  Oh, don't worry, they said.  There are wheelbarrows.  Which other campers had totally hoarded within their own campsite...

The back view from our campsite.

The front view from our campsite. 

Master camper. 

In Grade 5 I taught my class how to set up a tent in 3 minutes or less. 

Our mother taught us how to camp with class, OK?  Alex is BBQ'ing my birthday dinner. 

I forgot to bring my flip flops so Al's became the "Family Flip Flops."  Meaning, I wore them the whole time.

We got a lot of good walks in while we were on the island

.

Victory!  A wheelbarrow for the return trip!  We guilt-tripped a family who were letting their kids use this as a toy.

Hook Spit.

Fordie Cat really likes my hiking boots.

When we got off Sidney Spit, I had a nap lying in my parents' backyard in the shade.  

The view from my nap.

Dad's pond.

On top of Mt. Finlayson.

Freedom 33.

Student loans are a dangerous thing.  They're easy to get.  And once you utter the words "professional school," banks are eager to line up and throw money at the doctors, dentists, accountants and lawyers of tomorrow.  That's how I managed to finance three degrees, a visiting year at McGill, and a post-graduate program at London School of Economics.  And it wasn't just enough to scrape by.  It was enough to travel, enjoy London theatre, to see and experience the world.  

When the time came to pay those loans back, I wasn't worried.  After all, I was a lawyer now.  I thought I'd always be making stupid money.  Who cares if it took me 25 years to pay them back?  I could afford it. I thought I could afford a lot of things that suited my newly minted stature as a yuppie.  And the banks kept calling and offering more money, and the monthly payback numbers kept growing.   

After my first several years in big-firm practice, including my years in London, where I worked harder than I ever had before and clocked in more all-nighters than most people will experience in a lifetime, I was burnt out.  And I had to keep working hard, had to stay on the big-firm treadmill, because the big-firm salary was the only way I could afford to make those monthly paybacks.  The numbers were starting to grow faster than I could run.  

By December 2009, I was too tired to keep running.  And I was at a point where the choice to be a lawyer had been taken away from me. I had to do it, there was no walking away.  The Golden Handcuffs which I had willingly thrust my wrists into in order to live the lifestyle to which I thought I was entitled, were starting to chafe.  I wanted to options - to practice law or not, to stay on the big-firm track or not - and I needed to make some changes to open those doors.  

I cut up all my credit cards.  I consolidated all my loans.  And I began paying them back at a rate that amounted to more than half my take-home pay.  I was still making stupid lawyer money, yes, but I was living on a budget smaller than I had set for myself as a freewheeling London student.  I was 29.  My loans would be paid off sometime in 2013.  That seemed a long, long way off.  I jokingly called my new lifestyle the "Freedom 33" plan.  Life, I said repeatedly, would begin at 33.

On June 28, a day before my 33rd birthday, I pressed a button on my online banking, and paid off the last of my loans.  It was very anticlimactic.  I didn't feel different.  I didn't feel free.  I didn't suddenly see my whole life open up in front of me.  But - it is a good feeling, this clean slate.  

The new challenge is to keep to the strict budget and cash-only lifestyle I've been living for almost four years.  With Canadian household debt currently at 165% of disposable income, I don't intend to become part of that statistic.  It's tough though.  When people say, "Oh, treat yourself to that car/ring/condo/pair of Manolos/Indonesian holiday, you deserve it!"  I think, Yeah, I do!  I deserve that!  It's hard not the be proud, the way you are when you finish a long run or a hard workout.  And it's hard not to want a treat as a reward for your efforts.  

So, tomorrow I'm going to celebrate my birthday and my freedom with a number of my friends, on my rooftop terrace.  And that's what I deserve.  The rest can wait.  

I Mean, COME ON. How cute is this kitty?

Bangles and Back Handed Compliments.

On my lunch hour today, I had to have some bloodwork run.  The nearest lab to me is in Chinatown.  I love Chinatown, but it's always a bit of a funny experience at this lab, where there are literally no waiting room magazines in English, or signs in English, or fellow patients to chat to who speak English.  Ah, Canada.  Ah, multiculturalism.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Anyway, I'm wearing some beautiful bangles today that I picked up at

Tait

, a little boutique in Gastown.  These bangles are a personal triumph.  You see, my wrists have been too fat to wear bangles for quite some time, but now that I'm losing weight - over 50 pounds down now - all sorts of fashion avenues are opening up for me: knee-high boots, skinny jeans - and BANGLES!

The technician, who was Chinese, admired my bangles while she took my blood.

"Those are beautiful," she gushed.

"Thank you," I said proudly, twisting my wrist this way and that so they jingled.

"Chinese people like those," she said.  "It means you should have gold and diamonds.  I can't wear them - I look too bony."

"Oh really?" I murmured, not because I necessarily cared, more to be polite.  I was actively trying to ignore the giant needle in my arm at that point.

"Yeah.  I'm thin, I can't wear them.  Old Chinese people - they like people like you, people more plump.  It shows you're prosperous because you eat too much.  It's good that you got a bit of extra flesh."

And, smack!  Cue the back-handed compliment.  Serves me right for being so smug about my bracelets.

In Which I Once Again Find Myself At the Yoga.

Here's the thing about yoga: Shmeh. I get why it's good for me and stuff, but - it just doesn't really get my exercise mojo going, you know? I always start with good intentions, go to a few classes a week, and then months go by before I get back to the studio.


On Monday I went to Westcoast Hot Yoga in Yaletown because lululemon told me so. No, really. I'm training for the SeaWheeze half marathon and my training app told me I had to do hot yoga that night. So off I went to WCHY, mostly because I'd been there before (pre-renos). I booked myself in for a random class and found...

WILL!

OMG!

WILL!

This man, yoga teacher slash singer slash makeup impressario, in black eyeliner and peacock feathers, made me sweat like I had never sweated before, except in a sweat lodge, but then - well, nevermind. I sweated alot. And he played Leonard Cohen before our class. And didn't whisper. And made us sing "Row Row Row Your Boat" as our mantra as opposed to singing some words in Hindi I don't know. And he talked about Lady Gaga. And made us hug each other. And do yoga in a line, like rockettes. And only do one goddamn downward dog, which I totally hate anyway. And he said so many life-affirming things (like "own it before it owns you" - "it" being that feeling/fear/person/habit bringing you down) that I was literally yelling "Amen" along with him as he preached from his self-styled "yoga church." And then, when he belted out "Any Dream Will Do" from Joseph at the end of the class, Broadway Styles?! Well, this musical-theatre-nerd-turned-reluctant-yogi found her Yogi Master.

Is $24 pricey for a drop-in? Oh, probably. The studio's nice, your admission gets you a towel, a mat rental, and tea afterwards, but really? You go for the people. And as long as Will's there, I'll be going to WCHY. Even if he makes me do downward dog.