Ironing Oprah's Whisper in Pompeii...

On Monday I went to see my therapist in Cranbook. We caught up after about a month and a half. She mentioned that I seamed more "fiery" with is way better than apathetic, sad and depressed!!! Jodie, my therapist had been to Calgary to see Oprah! I personally have always appreciated Oprah after she taught me how to wear a bra. Undergarment "how-toos" may seem like a no-brain er, but when you are 14 and your boobs resemble small acorns compared to every other freshmen girl's apples or melons, under wire and padding can really transform acorns into walnuts (a much perkier nut). Jodie told me about Oprah's inspirational speech (when is she not inspirational).

"It was so great!" said Jodie. "She talked about how her grandmother said that she (Oprah) better find some 'nice white folk' to work for... here Oprah made a joke saying she had found some nice white folk. She had a white hair dresser, a white cook and even a white maid to work for her. But then Oprah said, 'I'm no more special than anybody else. I just listened to the whisper deep inside and did it!' I should totally be friends with Oprah!" Jodie finished. And we laughed about the impossibility of that! But Jodie's story of Oprah's story got me thinking. Do I have a whisper? Is there something deep down that I silenced long ago because of the seeming "impossibility" of the idea?

When I was a little girl we had National Geographics dating all the way back to the 60's. I can remember looking through those yellow magazines. I never read them (I didn't read much of anything until I was 13), but I devoured the pictures. I wanted to go everywhere! I wanted to see the ancient aboriginal dances and paint my skin in war paint and walk through endless oceans of orange sand! I wanted to snorkel the great barrier ref and walk down the deserted streets of Pompeii (how cool is fossilized bread?). But I never took Photography in High School. I took painting and drawing and ceramics and sculpture and printmaking but never photography.

In college, I looked into art education and started down that path. My friend Shannon was taking journalism. I can remember thinking how cool of a major journalism would be! But did I change majors? No. The thought never even occurred to me! Why did I assume I couldn't take photography and journalism?

Yesterday I was ironing my husband's dress shirts for his work conference in Vancouver. (To be fair, let it be stated that Jesse did offer to do his own ironing and I told him I would do it.) Ironing always puts me in the grouchiest mood. My mom used to iron almost everyday and she hated it! Ironing represents the epitome of domesticity and domesticity means the end of the world as we know it! If you even get out an iron you will never amount to anything (duh). As I steamed pleats, I thought about how I could never go back to school now, because I live in Fernie and I'm the ripe old age of twenty five!!! (Everyone knows that if you don't figure out your life goals at eighteen, you can't ever do what you want!) But then, I thought about what Jodie/Oprah had said! What was my whisper? What was the impossible thing for me? What do I really want?

Deep down I have an insatiable hunger to travel and get paid to do it! I would love to see the world, and capture it's beauty for the enjoyment of myself and others. My impossible whisper is to be a photographer for National Geographic!!! So after putting away the iron, I started to google "How to become a photojournalist for National Geographic..." and "Best Photojournalist Schools in Canada and US?" The first man I found had gotten of PhD from Harvard (of course), but as I continued to research, most of the photojournalist had degrees in anything from anthropology to language to journalism. And because I had already had an I-should-go-back-to-school-or-I'll-never-amount-to-anything breakdown last time I was in Vancouver with Jesse (never leave me alone in a hotel for three days), I knew that Harvard offered online courses in journalism.

Before, when I had looked into online degrees from Harvard, I had eventually dismissed the idea because of expense, and fear. If I go back to school, I better know what I really want to do or else it will be a huge waste of time and money! Yoga became my goal because it was much more attainable. And Yoga is awesome and I still do want to be a yoga instructor, but in the words of Ariel, "I want more..." Yoga is something I can do in Fernie, but I need something I can do outside of Fernie... eventually... something that gets me closer to making my impossible whisper... possible.

"Focus on what you can do" is a Beckett family motto. So for now I will focus on writing my blog (for practice for being a photojournalist for national geographic) and taking pictures with my new camera (also for national geographic) and I'll go to Yoga everyday (for balance and flexibility). But I will also figure out a way to go back to school online while I'm in Fernie with a limited Visitor Visa... because anything is possible when you listen to the whisper... just ask Oprah.

the writing on the wall...

 This week has been an adventure for me with yoga.

In the movie 500 days of Summer, there is a scene where the main character (who's name I can't recall) starts drawing on his bedroom walls. He is an architect that has been working at a card company. But in this scene, something has snapped, and our hero begins to create a city on the walls (which happen to be chalkboards) of his room. It's about two seconds, this image, from a random movie, but it changed my life forever... well at least it changed my bedroom walls forever.


One night I was laying in bed, trying to envision a better life than the one I was currently living. Working as a hair slave (intern), my life was lacking inspiration. So, I did what any normal girl would do: I found a couple permanent markers and began to write on the walls of my bedroom! What was I inscribing? Anything and everything that interested me in the slightest or things that I already was good at or wanted to learn. There were practical things like, "adopt elephants in Kenya!" and "teach cosmetology in Cambodia" and their were facts, "Cooking makes me happy", "I love to sing". And then there were the things I wanted to learn, "learn Guitar ASAP!" and "become a yoga instructor!" (everything pretty much ended in at least one exclamation point).

Since I've lived in Fernie, some of my self-made goals have been checked off, like "I want to climb a mountain!!!" I have now summited two nearby peaks. And I've begun others (I started guitar lessons).

But there was one exclamatory phrase that has risen in priority due to therapy.

My therapist asked me to take a personality test online. According to this specific enneagram test, I am a four. This may mean nothing to you, but it helped me a lot! Fours are "The Individualists". They are always looking to see what's past the horizon (no, my favorite Pocahontas song was not "just around the river bend" and yes I think she was a classic four.) We're restless and constantly searching for an identity. We want to be our true selves. Fours are also usually very creative (ringing any bells?) and often struggle to find meaningful work (well that just doesn't resonate with me at all- says the ex hair slave who spent every weekend looking up everything from the joining the peace corps to staying at a monastery in France for a year to organic farming in Europe. Hmmmmm). Each week in therapy I would have an assignment. After taking the personality test, my therapist asked me to do some research about fours, now that I knew I was a four. So one afternoon, I googled "Personality Four Information." One website caught my eye, "10 Careers for Four Personalities". Click. As I scanned the list I had to laugh: Psychotherapist, Holistic Health Practitioner, Artist, Writer, Missionary, Actor, Musician, and this is what really caught my eye and confirmed the writing on the wall, Yoga Instructor. After discovering that Fernie has a yoga studio that offers teacher training, I asked Jesse to get me the six month unlimited pass at Essential Yoga Studio. My hope was that after six months of intensive yoga classes, I would be ready to take the teacher training and check off yet another item from my wall and finally have a meaningful job that I loved!

I signed up for a class everyday this week.

Monday started off my practice with "Yoga for Alignment". Everyone could use some alignment right? (Asks the girl with scoliosis...) It was a great class, full of women from every generation, finding alignment and balance on their mats. I was awesome at Yoga! I was going to be the best yoga instructor ever!

Tuesday, I signed up for a hip opener class. I chose to wear my most comfortable leggings (the stretchy kind that don't make your stomach roll more than it has to with a very forgiving waist band) and two cute tank tops (layered to slenderize). My ensemble was complete with a loose sweater and scarf for warmth (the scarf had served me well on Monday). As I walked into the yoga studio, I realized I had made a huge mistake! The class I had signed up for was actually entitled "Hot Hips" which I assumed meant: after taking this hip opener class you will have some sexy hips (which speaking of sex, will make sex a lot easier because your hips will be so flexible). It was a win win. But no, there was a much more literal translation to the class title. Three heaters burned orange against the walls, and the room was already hotter than the Sahara dessert in the middle of the day! (Did I mention that I didn't bring water to my relaxing, easy hip opener class?) Everyone else had already laid out their mats and were stretching comfortably in spaghetti straps and shorts. I set up my mat against one wall (right next to a heater. genius.) and began stripping. Off came the scarf, the leg warmers, and my cute sweater!

The class started off O.K. with some familiar poses but quickly turned intense. As I lunged into "Lizard Pose", I could only think, "Wow, this pose totally sucks! And I'm sweating so much! Everyone else has an ethereal glisten, while I look and probably smell like an overdressed wet dog!" It was right after these thoughts that the instructor mentioned (in her relaxed non perspiring voice), "We're going to sink deeper into Lizard and hold this pose for about three minutes." NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!  My hips we're already pretty stretched, in fact it felt like they were ripping apart! I eventually took off my cute green tank top and used it as a towel for the rest of the class. Everything was drenched by the end of "Hot Hips" and I could barely move. I suck at Yoga. I'll never be a Yoga instructor. I've only had two classes and I can't even move. It was with these cheerful thoughts that I drove home and took a long bath while watching "Eat Pray Love."
As I moped in the tub, Liz Gilbert traveled to Rome and began studying Italian. She needed some help with the language and began meeting with a very handsome Italian man (is there such a thing as an unattractive Italian man?) At one point in their conversation, the handsome Italian tutor tells Liz, "you must be very polite to yourself when learning something new." It was just what I needed to hear.

On Wednesday, I went to a 7:00 a.m. Hot Yoga class. This time, I was prepared. Entering the warm room, I embraced the oppressive heat. Kneeling on my mat (not next to a heater) I closed my eyes and imagined that I was in the center of God's heart, which was warm with love. I thanked myself for getting up so early and getting to the class. Even the sweat dripping down my face and neck, I welcomed and let roll down my skin. The politeness worked! It was a completely different experience and I left the studio feeling refreshed and alive (and really hungry for breakfast and a latte!)

Today (Thursday), was restorative yoga at noon (it was not a Hot class). There were only two other students along with our very thin blond instructor. Heather (instructor) had set up stations of mats with all the props the class would require, and what a class! We only did four poses. Each pose was simple, soft, and very relaxing. The entire class was focused on deep breathing and peace. It was like being at a spa! Heather guided us through various breathing techniques. We breathed into our kidneys and our hips (I haven't quite gotten my breath down to my knees and toes yet) and meditated with our third eye. I didn't know I had a third eye, but I imagined a glassy lake with the sun for a pupil and the silhouette of a lone kayak er (me) paddling towards the orange sun. I prayed and breathed and imagined more beautiful places and I even fell asleep for a few minutes! The class was definitely the most peaceful of the week so far, but every Yoga class ends with the feeling of peace.

My favorite part of every Yoga class I attend is always the same. You know how each class ends with relaxation? Well after laying on your back, you eventually turn over to your right side and pull yourself back up into a comfortable seated position. Your hands turn to face each other over "heart center" and the Instructor says Namaste. You repeat the words and bow your head. There is a magical moment between the words and coming up from the bow where everything is still and everyone is silent. I imagine that everyone is offering up their own prayer or wish and the energy is almost tangible. For that moment, every heart beats with the same gratitude- gratitude that we survived a difficult pose or just showed up that day.

Yoga is my latest adventure. It is a never ending journey of the physical, spiritual, and emotional. And as I endeavour to fulfill the writing on my wall, I am resolved to be very polite to myself along the way...

Namaste.

Juicing the Sun and shooting sheep...

Sometimes you just need to try something new to get off your sorry sad little behind. At least that was my solution a few days ago.

Jesse and I went to visit friends and family over the holidays in Knoxville, TN. We had a great time spending afternoons in coffee shops and meals with friends. It hit me on a lay-over in Denver, that bleak sadness that only comes when you've left something precious behind.

Here in Fernie, I have struggled to make connections with people for various reasons. Back in Knoxville, I was reminded of just how many people I shared deep relationship with. There are a handful of fabulous women that I have shared so much with and learned to love deeply through the trials and joys of this life. I've spent the night in a hospital with Sara when her crohn's tried to suck the life out of her. I'll never forget her white face as she read the card I got for her before passing through the double doors to surgery (It was a singing card that blared, "I will survive!") She cried and laughed, as her frail hands shook with fear. I've weathered breakups with Chica, late night calls that only chocolate and wine can remedy when the man you wanted to spend your life with just couldn't commit. Rose and I got through our initial dislike of each other and ended up bosom friends. Kristen and I bonded over doing hair and makeup for a mutual friend's wedding. We've danced down Gay Street in downtown Knoxville listening to Justin Bieber (yeah we like the biebs) and "Firework" by Katy Perry. It was good to be in the company of people who know you through and through and love you just the way you are (fuck-ups and all). But that kind of connection and history takes just that: connection and history. History is just a pretty word for blood, sweat and tears, and blood, sweat and tears take long nights and early mornings and lots of time. Time is something I currently have an oppressive amount of back in Fernie, while connections and history have been very slow in developing.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, it was in Denver that the sadness hit while eating sandwiches and watching football. "I'm going to need a sad week," I told Jesse between bites with my head down. "O.K. is there anything I can do?" my husband replied through compassionate eyes. "No. Just let me be sad for one week and don't let it get you down. Cause when you get sad because of me it makes me feel ten times worse." "O.K." he agreed. So halfway through my "sad week" I was feeling pretty... you know... sad, and I just couldn't motivate myself to do anything (which is really frustrating). "Just do something Emily! Please!" I begged myself. "Like what?" replied my unenthusiastic resigned self from under the covers where I was lying. "I don't know... how about Juicing?!?" It was random for sure, but just enticing enough for my nutrition guru to take the bate. Jesse had a juicer that I had never tried since I'd moved in six months ago. Today was the day to juice!!! I busied myself researching recipes and vegetable combinations that hopefully wouldn't taste like barf even if their color resembled rejected food and stomach acid. I ran to the store to purchase the fruits and veges I would need!

 I brought my camera with me to document the experience (plus if you want to be a photographer you should just carry your camera around with you everywhere you go! at least that's what I'm telling myself!) As I snapped pictures of brussel sprouts and zucchinis, a gruff sales lady came up to me. "Can I help you?" she snipped, as if she was a celebrity and I was the paparazzi that had been following her for days. "Uh.. no." I replied with an expression resembling cardboard. "I'm just not used to seeing people taking pictures of the produce..." She pressed. Well then you've obviously never met the next great photographer of the freakin' decade lady! "Well, I'm Juicing today and I'm documenting my experience so I can blog about it..." I replied (cardboard). "We just have to ask." (who's we?) She walked away and I moved on to broccoli. Back at home I began to prepare a mostly raw dinner (Salad with egg, a whole wheat french bouquet, yogurt with fresh fruit for dessert and of course vegetable juice!) Jesse was relatively supportive of our nutritious dinner after asking several times (playfully... I think), 'where the meat was?'

On Sunday afternoon, the first day after my sad week, Jesse and I went for a drive to Cranbrook (a sunny town about an hour away.) We took our cameras with us, and happened upon several picture-worthy images! Our first subject was the landscape right before the tunnel. The area is fondly known as the "rock cuts" where the road meanders through slabs of mountain with breathtaking views and scary drop offs. We pulled off the road to capture the mountains against the rare blue sky. We got back into our trusty Buick and started the twisty-turny way through the rock cuts. "Oh there were some sheep back there." Jesse said while I fumbled with the music. "What?!" "Do you want to turn around?" He asked just as we passed two handsome bighorns. "Yes!" We made a U-turn in the middle of the mountain road and pulled off to the side as best we could. The sheep didn't seem particularly fussed by our presence and continued eating indifferently. We were able to get quite close before they got bored of us and moved on. It was amazing!

A few hundred pictures later,
we hit the road again.

The sun shone bright and warm and we stopped more than once to experiment with F-stops and shutter speeds. As Jesse drove I focused my lens on the car mirror and Jesse's face against the sun. It was a perfect day to start my not-sad week after a tumultuous seven days fighting melt-downs and loosing. Sunday was full of promise and hope. We ended the evening by seeing "Silver Lining Playbook" with some new friends. The movie was about a man who (after being diagnosed with bi-polar) is trying to get his life back under control and his interactions with an eccentric and depressed widower. They both are looking for the silver lining after some hefty life blows. It was a good reminder for me- not to take myself or life too seriously. Instead of dwelling on black-hole questions (what the fuck am I doing with my life? as I sit on the couch and cry while feeling sorry for myself), I need to just do something! Like Juicing and taking pictures with my husband on a beautiful sunny day. Maybe that's how to steer clear of the storms when they burden you with sadness- look for the silver lining when the sun doesn't appear to be shining. But when that blasted ball of fire does appear, get outside and take some pictures of those bright glorious moments.

Mr. Curmudgeon's new Neighbor...

The ugly sand stained snow
on the hill into town.

 You know what's awesome? When you're really depressed and you can't hide it from your husband, which in turn saddens him because he loves you so much, which then makes you even more depressed because you love him so much... that's just a super fun time right there. It turns out my therapist was right. Before leaving for the holidays, she asked,"So what's going to happen after the holidays are over and you get back from seeing all your friends and family? What will you do then to stay in the positive place you're currently in?" "Ummm...."

I mean so far, hating Fernie seems to be doing the trick. It's very easy for me to despise such a cold and ugly place. I mean why would anyone want to live in a place like this? It's surrounded by terrible mountains that block out the sun and brood in a constant shroud of clouds (I know nothing of the feeling). It's covered in disgusting snow that went from sparkling white to dusty and yellow. Fernie is also very cold, and not one single person in this whole entire town likes me (what's not to like about me? I'm the essence of charm). I suppose some people might look at the rocky peeks and see breathtaking monuments of stone covered in beautiful white snow and swirling mists. And yes, maybe those same delusional people see hours of snowboarding and skiing between these mountains. "They" also probably think Fernie is an "adorable" "quaint" little town, rather than a dead end to life as we know it, but "they're" all wrong.

For Christmas, Jesse and I bought really nice cameras. After writing a really good song about a dragon that lives in the mountains of Fernie (he stole the sun because he thought it was gold and now he just blows smokey clouds all day long- it's the only logical explanation for the weather), I decided to go on a walk and take pictures. Of course there was nothing really picture worthy- I was still in Fernie! I plodded along the ugly road looking at the ugly mountains and took a few shots of the creek and the road. My thoughts were very encouraging as I walked up the hill into town, "I hate this place. I hate my life..." But behind those uplifting ideas, a song lyric was stirring. It comes to mind often, "If we go looking for offense, we're going to find it. If we go looking for real love, we're going to find it." It's from a Sara Groves song, "Loving a Person". I switched the words in mind to this, "If I go looking for ugliness, I'm going to find it. If I go looking for beauty, I'm going to find it." With those words, the question is, what do I want to find? Ugliness? or Beauty? The answer, although opposite of what I had been seeking, seems pretty clear. When I reached downtown, I stopped by Jesse's office to say hi. I had left our house around four thirty in the afternoon. As I stepped outside after seeing Jesse, I was stunned to find that the clouds had mostly lifted to reveal a bright slivered moon and dazzling pink mountains. I hurried past mugshots to get a picture of the Three Sisters without power lines obstructing the view. It was beautiful. I would love to tell you that after this encouragement I took my new-found beauty-seeking epiphany into the new day that is today, but I didn't.

Mmmmm..... a vanilla latte'...

After getting up this morning and photographing one of my favorite things: making a latte with the perfect blend of rich espresso and frothy milk, I found myself getting sadder and sadder. Yesterday, while scanning through my new's feed on facebook, this quote caught my eye (thank you Rosa if you're reading this). "Make sure your worst enemy doesn't live between your own two ears." Unfortunately, I've been noticing of late, that my worst enemy does live between my own two ears! I don't know when he moved in, but I can assure you that he has not been paying rent, nor did my squatter put down a damage deposit (and there have been damages since he arrived). His name is Mr. Curmudgeon. And although I hate to speak ill of anyone, Mr. Curmudgeon is not a very nice person. He is always sharing his opinions in a very gruff manner and they are usually condescending and rude. For instance, when I tried to write this blog yesterday, Mr. Curmudgeon, informed me, that he thought this whole blogging business wasn't worth my time, and as a friend, he suggested I delete the draft I had been composing and get some rest. I followed his orders to a tee. That's the thing about Mr. Curmudgeon, he always appears to have your best interests in mind, but if you follow his bidding, you will end up eating quite a few cookies, watching several movies, and really never doing much of anything, because like he says, "what's the point? no body cares."  As accurate as that often sounds, I've been trying to put a little bit more stock into my own opinions and desires.

 After all what if no body does care except me? Shouldn't that be enough incentive to do whatever it was that I wanted to do? I matter enough... don't I? Mr. Curmudgeon believes in doing things for the betterment of others and sacrificing selfish desires, but I don't think I'm as selfless as he once supposed. So I've decided to turn Mr. Curmudgeon's home into a split level. It's impossible to kick him out from the home he's made between my own two ears. He'll need time to find a new place, but I could really use the rent, and a new renter just showed up that's totally willing to pay (damage deposit and all!). Her name is Miss Charity. She is a very nice elderly lady (eighty two I believe she said). Miss Charity is the kind of person that drinks several cups of tea a day and enjoys fresh flowers. Don't let her age fool you either, she is a hard-working, down-to-earth, do-it-yourself kind of a gal. I'm hoping that with Miss Charity around, she'll prove a pleasant neighbor to Mr. Curmudgeon. While the two of them get to know each other, I will get out of bed (and put the rest of the cookies away for another time much to Mr. Curmudgeon's chagrin) and focus on two things: looking for beauty, and making friends with my new renter while distancing myself from the likes of Mr. Curmudgeon. With that perspective in mind, I hope to work my way back to the positive place I was in before the holidays. I'm sure I can find it again, even if I do still live in Fernie.... :)