ayeio

[ayeio]

It’s been a while

This post is a bit of a refresher. It will also be a bit of an update on what I’ve been up to since fall 2018.

I am not really sure how this works anymore. The keys are still in the same ASDF order, and my fingers still seem to know which buttons to press in sequential order, but there exists a gap in my ability to transmit what is found in my neural pathways onto the electronic pathways of a screen. (This entire process still boggles my mind, by the way.) The act of writing seems to be a distant memory. The last time I wrote a blog post was one year ago. I just re-read the title “relationship as underwear” and I can say with honesty that I don’t have the slightest idea what I wrote. I have gone through and re-read some of my writings from years prior and I am baffled that I was capable of writing something that was so easily forgotten.

I can use an example to illustrate this sense of amnesia. Over a year ago, I wrote the beginnings of a story while I had a few spare hours at school. This story seems to be loosely based on my personal life (auto-fiction of a sort), but it mostly just encapsulates certain feelings I felt at various points in my life. I then used those feelings of self reflection to create characters and dialogue. Two main themes/ideas that arose from that exercise were: sexual frustration and teenage angst, amid the backdrop of experiencing 9/11 while I was at a pivotal point in my life. Those two subjects have, no doubt, been overdone but it was still interesting to put them into words and make something of it.

As I glanced at the previously undiscovered document, I remember why I started to write that piece in the first place. I was on the cusp of finishing a BSc degree, planning to apply to study medicine. I wasn’t working and I felt guilt that my entire life was not consumed by school. My headspace was very odd. On the one hand, I was happy to be a student and happy to be able to contribute a lot of my energy in pursuit of another degree in a new area. On the other hand, I didn’t feel like I was contributing to “the world” (or maybe just my household, financially) in a way that I had previously. I was left feeling like I had extra time and that I shouldn’t squander it by sitting idly when there was a lull. So I wrote about 4000 words that never amounted to anything but a few megabytes on my hard drive. That is the definition of the snake eating its own tail. Having read the thing, I am glad that it died. But I need to fill the writing void again. I am feeling a more pressing need to externalize some of my thoughts and to string words together into sentences. It’s been too long. Sadly, it is coming to me during November (NaNoWriMo), which makes me feel a little sorry for myself. I just want to get something done for a change though.

Turning gears entirely, I want to let you know what I’ve been up to since November 2018. This following list is a long one, which may be pretty disorientating. Here is a sampling:

- I finished my BSc degree, with distinction - I applied to (and didn't get in) to Med school. I interviewed at two Universities and was rejected by both - I got a job at a bike shop (after being unsuccessful in applying for about a dozen other jobs) - I fell back into love with bikes, and bought three new ones in the spring/summer of 2019 (one of which I am trying to sell, so that I can get a different one maybe) - I started riding things that have never been in my comfort zone: long gravel rides, more trails, and cyclocross - I competed in a cyclocross series in Manitoba, where I finished 16th overall and won Bronze (for my age group) at the provincial championships - I made a few friends - I rode home from Kenora again this summer (at a record slow pace, no doubt) - I travelled to Quebec City, where I felt like I need to learn French (but have since put in zero effort to learn French) - I have had many sleepless nights and early mornings of existential dread, wondering where my life will take me

I also read Nice Try by Josh Gondelman. It was the first book I read where I felt a connection to the author based on our age alone. I am 34 but oftentimes I never know what age to feel. Some of my friends are far along the adult path, whereas I’m not really sure where I fit on the circle of life. In Nice Try, Josh mentioned so many important events that I also experienced, right down to some of the choices in music. He is an urban writer/comedian, which makes his life experience significantly different from mine, but there were aspects that made me feel kinship to a stranger. After putting down the book and appreciating the ubiquity of his experiences I felt like I might have something of my own to contribute. That thought is quite interesting, because in my youth I was convinced I would write (and possibly be a famous writer) a best selling book by the time I turned 25. Almost ten years later, I feel like I’ve circled back and feel farther from that “life goal”. But I’ve accepted that. I hope to have another couple of decades of non-writing left.

[ayeio]

Relationship as underwear

This thought just came to me. I realize I haven’t written much here recently, but this is something that I find both accurate and hilarious and needed to write it down some place. 

Here it is: relationships, in a way, are like putting on a pair of underwear. Hear me out. (I make the assumption that underwear is necessary.)

Morning rituals aside, on any given day, you wake up and eventually put on a clean pair of underwear. (The clean part is also an assumption I’ve made.) For whatever reason, on this particular day, you are a bit groggy. Your shields are down so you grab any old pair from the underwear drawer. You throw this “pair” on, and go about your day. As you make breakfast, you realize that something doesn’t quite feel right. “Have I gained weight,” you wonder to yourself. “No, these seem fine,” you then mutter to yourself after awkwardly adjusting while sipping a cup of coffee (decaf).

As you head out for the day, you look at yourself in the mirror and wonder - out loud this time - if something is amiss. You scratch your front and then scratch your back, but decide it’s not worth the trouble. The day must go on, regardless of whatever sense of discomfort is presently felt. After completing your post-breakfast rituals (e.g. brushing your teeth), you head out into the world and try to avoid any negative thoughts about your underwear predicament. You are chiefly aware that your discomfort may be palpable, so you walk with precise care. When you sit down on the bus, you pay particular attention to your motions. The last thing you want is to appear uncomfortable; underwear is a sensitive topic, and you don’t want to be “that person” who feels the need to rant about underwear today. Or not even any day. You just don’t want it to be a thing, especially not a part of who you are.

At your meeting before lunch time, before you can check in on your britches, you suffer through a massive amount of discomfort. “I just want to read the label. I want to figure out what the issue is,” you think to yourself. Your boss just got a promotion and you want to follow suit, so you keep your lips parsed and your eyes free of wince. At the end of the meeting, the only thing crossing your mind is ripping off your pants and figuring out what the hell the problem is. But you’ve realized that you promised a lunch date with a friend from university. With each movement, there is some scratchy bit that is bothering your sensitive bits, but you avoid it. “Out of sight, out of mind,” is what your mother used to say. Just keep it out of sight.

The lunch date was fine. You caught up about whatever is going in life an work. Promotions are up for everyone it seems, but it doesn’t really matter. All you can think about how awful your legs feel. What started as a distinctive discomfort in one inch of one leg has now permeated to both legs. You get back to work, hoping to have something to take your mind off of the pain (at this point its pain), but you quickly realize that one inch has become your entire god damn left leg, and half of your right. You keep eying the clock. “Oh god, just please let me make it to 4:30. I can’t handle this anymore.” Not for lack of trying, the day doesn’t speed along. You’re stuck dealing with the hours counting down. 

You check the bus schedule. If you leave work at exactly 4:29, you can walk to catch the early bus (which is also the express) and make it home by 5:02, traffic depending. The desire to get that promotion is quickly trounced by this feeling of imminence. 4:28 strikes, and you’ve already made your way to the elevator. You don’t care if the front clerk notices you and records your time of departure in her spy log. Today - this precise moment - is what matters most.

As luck would have it, you were early to catch the bus that was equally early. There is nowhere to sit, so instead you must writhe in discomfort standing on your own two feet. You carefully lean against a seat back and hold on to a safety pole for your dear life. You put aside the smell of farts that seem to permeate your area. “They’re not mine,” you say with your eyes to everyone in your vicinity. But the urgent discomfort you are exhibiting suggests otherwise. No one believes that you’re put together. You fear that you’ve become the bus-farter. With a hint of shame, you race off the bus. Everyone will soon realize that it wasn’t you, but that won’t matter tomorrow.

You’ve been taking this commute for years now, so you know all of the shortcuts. You also know some of the passersby, which obligates you to stop and share stories. Today is different, of course. You are searching for immediate relief if possible. You trudge through alleys, hope a fence or two, and eventually make it home. 

As you turn the key and open the door, you look down and realize that you’ve already instinctively unbuttoned your top button of your pants. You haven’t even dealt with your shoe laces or the bulky jacket you’re wearing. Heck - you still have your backpack on. But none of that matters. Getting off those godforsaken nickers is the first priority. A person in their right wits would realize you can’t skip ahead of underwear removal. You definitely need to take your shoes off before you can do anything else. Your feeble attempt to skip steps has its price: you trip over yourself, landing squarely on the coffee table. It’s worth maybe $10, so the entire table breaks under your weight, sending your backpack hurling across the room. When you stop and realize what’s happened, you taste blood dripping into your mouth. You reach up and realize that it’s come from your nose and there is no signs of the flow stopping. “Well shit,” you say to yourself as you continue with your efforts. YES! The pants are off! Double YES! You remove the underwear. 

You use them to wipe the blood from your dripping nose. You let out a sigh of relief, and then chuckle at what effort you had to go through in order to get to this point. How could you let yourself suffer all day for this? Why didn’t you just throw them out at the earliest opportunity? Will this be the last pair that you ever wear? 

Each of these questions are answered as you throw this pair into the bin. You don’t pay it any attention from that point. It’s supper time at this point, and there are a whole bunch of TV shows that need catching up. After eating you pour a tall glass of liquor, and tempt yourself to never think of this subject ever again. Thankfully, you fall asleep on the couch and stay there all the way until tomorrow morning.

You awaken with a smile on your face. Not a hint of stupor in your mind, you get up off the couch and start your daily morning rituals. When it’s time, you return to the dresser drawer, pensively. “Should I even bother, today?” This is a question you’ve asked yourself a few times. Before making any rash decisions, you return to the bin - to the culmination of a horrific tragedy. You reach down and see what yesterday was all about. The blood has since dried, but you can still find ways to figure out what the faults were. Wait...a...second... These underwear. These underwear are inside out. No wait, they’re rightside in, but when the were inside out when you slid them off. You check the label again, to be sure. They’re the wrong size, which means they’re not yours. AND THEY WERE INSIDE OUT!

The earlier question of “should I ever again,” is quickly answered. Yesterday’s tragedy had nothing to do with underwear. It was just this pair. You raise your hands in victory and look more carefully through the drawer. For starters, you turn on the light and check to make sure the tag has your initials on it. “There it is,” you say as you snatch a nice looking pair into your hands. As you slide them on, one leg at a time, you smile to yourself knowing that today will be different.

...

[ayeio]

A review of Singularity, by Jon Hopkins

I think that I’ve written a total of two albums reviews in my life. There’s a chance that they no longer exist on the internet (if they ever did at all). So this little piece is probably review numero tres. The album that I have chosen to write about is Singularity by Jon Hopkins. It is very good. I am going to write about (and hopefully convince you) why.

Cities have their own rules when it comes to driving while listening to music. Some cities permit playing loud music, while others prevent anything with rammy bass lines, or tinny highs. Or maybe it comes down to preference. Listening to music while riding a bike is similarly variant, in terms of law. The reason for outlawing such a practice, as is obvious to some, is that music is a distraction. It prevents you from hearing the noises out on the streets. You can’t hear car horns or passersby yelling that you’ve cut them off. In regard to danger, I take the contrary view. Listening to music while riding a bike is about as smart a decision as one can make, especially when that music enhances your concentration.

Before you, dear reader, jump to any conclusions just let me say: I don’t think that all substances or activities that apparently enhance concentration need to be paired to riding a bike (ie. drugs) but sometimes music plays a most significant and vital role. Especially when the album you’re listening to is Singularity.

Like some of Jon Hopkins’ other works, this album starts with a very healthy dose of amplitude. In his 2013 release, Immunity, the album starts right in there with We Disappear. The energy injected to that song is a bit of a false sense of exhilaration. It’s a little bit of an amuse bouche. You know there’s more, but you’re going to have to wait for it. On Open Eye Signal, you get that sense that there is magic in the works. A few repetitive bloops lead you into a trance. The keys just build from there. On the basis of Open Eye Signal, the whole album works. And when you finally get to Immunity, you can’t help but say “thanks, I’ll take that cigarette now.” (I don’t even smoke.)

Singularity, on the other hand, which comes to us just five years on from Immunity, has a completely different message: just get up and go. Put on your headphones and run out into the world. I heeded this beckon, jumped on my bike and just pedalled. The ride itself was planned to be a bit of a leisurely pace to take me to the grocery store. A few bars in to Singularity (the album and the title track), I had to change my plans. A few thoughts came to mind: I hope I don’t mind when others see me all sweaty. I wonder if my face looks as good as it feels. Can I just keep this song on repeat? 

At about the 4:00 mark, the song reaches a crescendo and I can’t help but think to myself that life is good and that things will be alright. Immediately before listening to this album, I hadn’t doubted that, but it was nice to have that reassurance. 

I saw a tweet earlier today that said Jon Hopkins had taken two years to create this album. It sounds like it. It feels like it. With electronic music - or whatever sub-genre - I get a lot of joy in the transitions between songs. I really enjoy when there is a unifying theme on the album, which makes the transitions that much more valuable. Conversely, I find it rather annoying when a full length album just sort of blends into one extended track. But Jon doesn’t do that. He’s spent two years creating a full 9 tracks (plus a few bonus ones) that are linked, but are very much separate songs. They have some of token Jon Hopkins rhythm and timing (and base lines) that you’ve come to enjoy, but there enough gaps and dissimilarities to make Singularity feel like something fresh. The quiet piano tones are warm and welcoming. The choral sounds on Feel First Life work perfectly, especially as a mid album break. C O S M picks up where things were left off, and builds you up to the feeling of enlightenment. It’s the perfect kind of song to stare up at the sky to. Or to look into the palm of your hand and think: “how did we get so far, as a society?”

Once you’ve grabbed all of the groceries that you need to buy, though, you can turn on Luminous Beings and blend right into the music video. The build-up will get you around a lot of smooth, quiet turns and by the end you’ll be ready to climb the bridge on your final ascent home. (I am at least speaking for my own commute.) There is enough open space to let you wonder if you remembered to get everything. When you realize it’s all there (plus an extra chocolate bar and some gummy bears), you can really just sit back and enjoy the ride while you drown out the asshole peeling out in his 2008 Camaro. 

This album is a truly like a fantastic piece of cake: it’s sweet, and it has a lot of layers. There are all sorts of flavours hidden in each layer, too. When it first hits your tastebuds, you taste the sweetness. It gets your body moving and your insides doing their job. But it’s not the kind of cake you get tired of. It doesn’t make you hit a wall or regret any decisions. Each bite is progress in the forward direction. After the second bite, flavours start to open up a bit. With the third bite, you move the bolus from left to right inside your mouth; is that lavender? Do I taste a little sprig of mint? Oh my, there is even some cocoa in this piece? Trust me - it’s all there. And it works. Every bite has the same sweet goodness that you somewhat expect, but each bite tastes a little bit different from the last. It can be poor form to ask for the recipe but you want to do it anyway. Staring at the final bite from the end of your fork, though, you smile and take it all in. Instead of getting the recipe, though, just get another piece to go. It’s worth it.

So yeah, Singularity is a good album. It made me want to ask for the recipe, or climb into that little door on floor 7.5 and be left on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike. It filled me with enough creativity to write this non-album-review-album-review, which means something to me. 

I’m going to give this album 🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰 and 🚴‍♂️🚴‍♂️🚴‍♂️🚴‍♂️🚴‍♂️. I recommend it to anyone who needs a companion to whatever adventures befall you.

[ayeio]

writing as a muscle

I’ve written about this before, and I worry that it’s part of the same old trope: writing takes practice. I have also discovered that the more I write, the more I want to write, and the better I am able to put my thoughts into words.

I just started writing a little story about a guy that I frequently see. My normal practice in this space is to just write and see what happens. I don’t know if it’s the time of day, my lack of practice, or something else, but I’ve decided to shelf the story for now. I am going to plan it out a little better and then come back to it. It’s not like other bigger works that I’ve pushed, but I want to get the cadence   and the ideas straight.

This is a bit of a new feeling for me, I think. I am excited. Stay tuned!

[ayeio]

A strong and powerful thought

I just had a strong and powerful thought. I wouldn’t call it an epiphany. That’s the sort of word that gets reserved for strong and powerful thoughts that have lasting symbolism, and more significant consequences (e.g. the belief that humans are most probably from some other planet, thereby extending our our actual length of evolution indefinitely). This thought that I had is more to do with life on the internet.

I’ve been blogging for quite a long time. I first started blogging in about 2004, when I travelled to Japan after graduating high school. Those blogs were sort of a “here’s what I’m up to in Japan” - standard fare when it comes to blogging. Later, in my first entry into University life, I wrote far more bleak thoughts that identified intense feelings of loneliness and a lack of belonging. Those posts have mostly been deleted, and I hope there are no permanent records out there.

Since either of those two periods, I have used blogging as an outlet, as a way to just put things out there into the abyss. A sort of a free-flowing “get this off my chest” sort of thing. In the last year or more, I have severely cut down on the amount of writing. Not surprisingly, my desire or urge to write creative works has also taken a hit, leaving me with very little gas in the tank. I haven’t had too many brilliant ideas that I’ve felt compelled to share. This is exactly what led me to this strong and powerful thought that I just had:

I assume that no one reads this blog. I assume that very few people have read this (and other of my blogs) over the years. Nevertheless, I am bombarded with this mistaken view that people value my words and somehow respect me for the things that I write. That doesn’t make any sense, at an entirely practical level.

Without delving into the “if a tree falls in an empty forest” trope, let me just say that this sort of belief is completely nonsensical. But there is a reason for it. The entire pluggedin world out there (I.e. those of us who use the internet and social media) have become self-branding machines. Every word or photo that is posted has the ability to be seen as somehow confirming our individual and group identities. If I post a photo of “art” on instagram, then that photo can be a symbol of my artistry, which then feeds back into your perception of me as someone that either makes or identifies art. (In this case, “art” could be supplanted with probably any subject, and my chain of thought still applies.)

Looking from the outside perspective, there is a very simple reason that I, a comparative nobody, believes that people care about what I post online: I care about what other people post about online. I follow famous people (even if they’re just internet famous) and I see that their social media posts get 100s of 1000s of likes or retweets or whatever. Given that my images and words appear in the same timeline, it would appear that each of us have the same value: their themes are equally accessible as mine. But there is obviously something more than just appearing algorithmically in order that provides additional clout to those other people. Something that I do not deserve.

This is not intended to be a “woe is me / everyone pay attention” type of post. As I said, there is a strong and powerful thought embedded in this line of inquiry. The thought is this: the only similarity among my banal posts and the banal posts of those other creative people is that their banality occupies the space in between. If Douglas Coupland posts a photo of a drinkable cup of coffee, he is doing so in the midst of his creation. The cup of coffee is not the work itself, its a symbol of what happens when work takes its break. Comparatively, if I post a photo of a cup of coffee, there is a good chance that the cup of coffee has become the object and not the subject (or perhaps it is the other way around). So if I just post the cup of coffee without first creating something worthwhile, the cup of coffee is pretty meaningless, and is a symbol of idleness more than it is a symbol of intermediacy. 

I hope that one day I will be comfortable with posting a cup of coffee. I also feel compelled to turn this strong and powerful thought into something that I am happy with. I don’t yearn for fame or a million likes, but I do yearn to complete that which I have set out to complete. In spite of all the things that occupy my time these days, my plan is to make 2018 a year in which I complete some things. 

Here’s to that. ☕️

[ayeio]

the mall, iPhones, and the anxiety each generate

I decided that I needed to go to the mall today. There were a few things that I needed to check off my to-do list (one of which was make a deposit at the bank, so it wasn’t completely mall-y), and I had a day off before I start class tomorrow. Aspects of this trip were most definitely mall-y, and I had several moments during my visit that made me question the entire existence of malls. The people there all seem so contented, but I just can’t make sense of the experience of mall-going.

The journey started off by checking google maps for my travel journey. I have been riding the bus as of late, so it was necessary that I check to see which route would take me from home to there. Eleven, twenty-four, or twenty-five. By my estimation, the eleven was set to arrive sooner but it was the slower and less express bus. The others would require a longer wait but made fewer stops, so the travel time would be about the same. Regardless, I wrote down the numbers just in case (along with the return-trip busses), bundled up, and made my way to the bus stop. 

The first bus to arrive was the twenty-one, which I'm not entirely sure would make its way to the mall. The driver seemed to think I asked whether it went to “Wall,” and suggested that I wait for a non-express bus. I didn’t want to correct myself so I just let it slide. I thanked him, got off the bus, and continued to wait. The twenty four was the next bus to arrive. I anticipated the journey being a bit longer so I pulled out Nudge, hoping to get in a chapter or so. But it was the express bus so I only managed to get a few pages in before reaching my destination. I was fine with the amount I got to read, and was even happier to get through with the damn trip.

There were exactly three places I needed to check out at the mall: the Apple store (FFS), a cell phone kiosk (the root of my concerns), and the bank. By chance, the Apple store was the first to find me so I stopped there. I am in the process of getting rid of my iPhone. It’s a relatively new one, but it’s not-new enough that Apple has allegedly released a documented software "upgrade” that carries out its planned obsolesce ends. It’s perhaps the first time they have admitted to intentionally reducing the utility of one of its products as it aged. But that’s not entirely why I am getting rid of mine. I am not looking to upgrade to one of the even newer iPhones, but I was hopeful that I could swing a new battery which would make the thing easier to cell (that was a horrible pun- I mean, to sell). After navigating my way through two separate Apple employees (or helpers or geniuses or whatever their cutesy titles are these days), I was told that I would have to wait 2 hours to speak to a different human being. Or I could use a phone (though not the Apple one I was enquiring about) to talk to a different human being to potentially sort out my problem. Fine - I will take that option. I have better things to do than hang around the mall for two hours. (Granted - I did watch the latest Power Rangers movie today, so I’m not holier than thou.)

The next stop, by chance again, was the cell phone kiosk. The man working the booth seemed to be at least as old as me, but with people who work at mall kiosks, I could never be so sure. He was imminently helpful in answering my basic questions about how to buy a SIM card. If there was a way, I’m sure he would have reported me to the authorities as a person who might just be a) buying a burner phone to have an affair; or, b) buying a burner phone because I needed to get rid of a body subsequent to a failed affair. It was sort of like buying condoms for the first time, but I was just buying something to shove into a cell phone. I didn’t have the gall to make an immediate purchase, so I thanked the man and started walking toward the bank, which should have been my third and final stop.

Here’s the thing about malls - if there a store that sells a single type of product, there are likely to be ten stores that sell that exact product. The joys of consumer choice at its finest. There was no actual need to consult the further cell phone kiosks, as I had already scoped out the prices and all of the features of every major provider days ago. I had decided at that time which provider provided the cheapest deal (not necessarily the best deal, I’m sure), but my nauseatingly detailed google searches placed me exactly where I needed to go. After meandering the main floor and peeking at each cell phone store, I managed to go to the bank. I expected that the vibes I had previously given off to the cell phone kiosk guy were still lurking, so I just tucked into the first open ATM I could find so as to avoid being spotted as someone doing something nefarious. 

On my way back to the first kiosk - my supposed second stop of the day - I thought about how ridiculous this entire process was. About a month ago, I decided that I no longer wanted to pay $80 a month to have use of a smartphone. I have been pontificating on this subject since then, and have realized that there is a social expectation to have a smart phone with as much data as you can possibly get. In the week since Christmas, there have been news stores - more like advertorials - about how all the cell providers are competing for business by offering the exact same price plan that includes 10 GB of data. I can’t imagine what you would need that much data for, but it seems like an unhealthy amount of data to be using EVERY MONTH.

I’m not a luddite, but I can see the value in taking a step back from the immediacy that is offered by the smart phone. In fact, when I walked into the Apple store I was allured by all of the newer and shinier models on offer. They all seem a bit more sleek than mine, and I had a moment or two where I thought to myself that maybe getting rid of my smartphone isn’t a great idea. I started thinking about all of the apps that I could use if I had a smartphone (even the not-so-shiny one I still have). Once I pulled my head out of my arse, I remembered that I can do all of the stuff I want to do using the things I already have and don’t really intend to get rid of: a computer, a camera, an iPod, and regular old pens and paper.

As I think more about smart phones and social media, I get hung up on the fact that it’s changing how I view the world. I have been that guy that stairs down at his phone while crossing a busy intersection. Or the guy who listens to music 24/7, which inevitably results in becoming more isolated and more anti-social. Even when I was talking to the cell phone guy, I had this moment of pause where I wondered whether this person would be the only human I talk to outside of my home. That’s a dangerous and scary thought.

Granted - I’ve always been a bit different. I think that keeping a blog is definitely a reflection of that, but when I talked to several people at the mall, I was looked at as a complete outsider to the world in which we live. One person was in disbelief that I wanted a prepaid plan and didn’t want to sign up for an extended term contract. Yet another assumed that I would want to spend a certain amount of money and have access to certain features that seem to be so completely the norm that even suggesting a different path is an act of heresy. 

So be it, though. I look forward to not having a supercomputer in my pocket at all times. I want to not know things, and think about them or read up on them at a later time. I want to remember what it’s like to have to plan ahead. To write out directions for myself, or ask actual human beings where to go in the event that I get lost. Some of the most real human experiences I have had were the result of chance encounters that required me to just be present, and open my mouth to speak with others- possibly even learn a thing or two. I don’t think that getting rid of a smartphone will be a completely magical experience to offer that up, but I see it as a start. Having a smartphone, at least for me, has been an experience that allows me to have a shortened memory. There are certain facts that I no longer need to memorize because that information is so readily accessible. I am hopeful that having a dumb phone will shift that learning obligation back to me.

This isn’t a New Year, new me thing, either. I’ve been thinking about this a lot for several months - possibly longer - but I’ve also felt like the act of getting rid of my iPhone is some sort of emblematic moment in my life. An anti-rite of passage, maybe. I’ve since realized that it shouldn’t be, but before I went through this process I read countless other epic tales of people who gave up their smart phone in order to reclaim a missing piece in their sense of self or rid themselves of some horrific tech-addiction. I fought the urge to see myself in each article, if only to consider myself less a junky, or less socially-isolated than is talked about in the midst of social media proliferation. 

Correspondingly, as I found each new think piece that much more compelling or relatable, I started to see that the authors were themselves just humans that each made a very banal decision to stop keeping a hyper-powerful supercomputer within reach for every waking second. When I came to that realization, it made it a lot easier to remember that smartphones are there to make us more of ourselves and not just more of the same. Getting rid of mine, I hope, will bring me back to places that give me the sense that what I’m doing contributes to the person I want to be, helping me do the things I want to do.

Feel free to drop me a line and we can talk about it. 

[ayeio]

Hello?

Is there anybody out there? 

I have been writing a bit (including over at imnewhere.ca), and I hope to return to this site again soon.

Until then,

Trevor

[ayeio]

QOTD

It’s late. I’m tired. I had a long day. All of these things probably suggest that I should head right to bed. But I can’t go to bed just yet. I have a thought that I need to write down and make publicly available. It’s a moment of accountability. It’s a moment I think is worth sharing with myself and with others.

Every now and then, I pose a question to my friends in a group chat. Some of the questions are silly, others are serious. These questions of the day (or QOTDs) are often asked in passing, and other times they elicit a response. Sometimes I like to hear the answers because I want to work through some type of personal dilemma. Other times, still, I am just curious or want to start a fervour. 

A few weeks back, I asked my friends what one thing in a relationship can they not live without. I got a few pretty solid answers, most of which pointed to some sort of internal reflection. One such answer was something about how it’s nice to have someone to share experiences with (or maybe share a kind of an adventurous view of the world). I hadn’t given the question much thought because at the time I asked it, the thought of a relationship wasn’t really in my mind. That question, that day, was just a curiosity. I guess I wanted to learn more about my friends or something in order to gain perspective.

Since then, I have thought about this some more. I’ve written down a few of my thoughts privately. Most of those thoughts have to do with sharing: experiences, laughter, joy, and the like. I like sharing. It’s in my nature. I also like giving, and laughing, and reminding the people in my life what makes them so great.

And I just had an epiphany. What is the one thing in a relationship I would never give up? The opportunity to be myself - 100% me, warts and all - and feel confident that I’m doing the right thing. That probably sounds quite selfish, and I am alright with that. The only way I can ever be anything to anyone (be in a friend, a partner, etc.) is if I first take care of myself. I’m not delusional, and I know my limits. But the best parts of myself are the ones that aren’t meant to be experienced alone. It’s pretty hard to be generous and caring to yourself (though I do recommend it, it can be a challenge). As much as I enjoy pumping my own tires and telling myself how great I am, I’d rather do that for other people. I am so very grateful for all of the terrific people in my life and I very much enjoy sharing those vibes and helping my beloved friends and family reach their goals. 

So yes - that’s what I can’t live without. I will be me. I will strive to be the best me. The most me. The me-est, in fact. And that’s the one thing I don’t think I could ever forgo in a relationship.

[Note: I feel absolutely fantastic today. I have never felt so calm.]

[ayeio]

Backpacks

I’ve written about shoes before. I’ve written about pants before. And now I am going to write about backpacks.

Several years back - ok like 20 - I went to school with a guy named Tanner [I hope he doesn’t read my blog because that’s his real name]. This would have been in about grade 7 or so, which actually makes it more than 20 years. But I’m not telling you my age so don’t ask if you don’t already know. Tanner would have been the same age as me, give or take a few months. Growing up, I was usually the young guy because my birthday is in October. Don’t ask me which year, because I won’t tell you. Tanner’s birthday would have been at some point before my birthday, but his age isn’t really integral to the story. The key is to know that Tanner and I were approximately the same age, and in grade 7 together. 

I used to think that Tanner was a pretty cool guy. He did okay in school, but not quite as good as me. I did really well in school, especially back in those days. Tanner was a bit more outgoing than me, but I wouldn’t say he was more talkative. He was actually kind of quiet, from what I remember. I wouldn’t say he was shy; he just didn’t talk that much. He might have just not talked to me; like I said, Tanner was a cool guy. He wasn’t super great at school, but he was great at doing other stuff. I think he was one of the first people I knew that rode snowboards. He dressed like it to. If you were to pick up a magazine from that era, you probably would have seen name-brand clothes that Tanner also owned. Obviously, the magazine got them first but there would have been some cross-pollination or whatever you want to call it. Tanner dressed like the cool guys in magazines. Back in those days, that made you more cool.

I didn’t so much care about his fashion sense, but I had a keen interest in this one backpack that he had in grade 7. It was made by the snowboard brand, Burton. I think that a lot of the brands from that era, especially for me, are somehow engrained. If you were to ask me what the hottest food trends in those days were I would be less likely to know them than I would the cool fashion snowboarding brands like Burton and whatever else. [Note: I think bagel bites must’ve been in, because I used to eat a lot of them and I would frequently burn the roof of my mouth because I couldn’t wait for the cheese to cool. The insides always remained frozen though. What a horrible food.]

Tanner’s Burton backpack was perfect to me. It seemed to have a bunch of external organization pockets, in which I could have put all my school supplies. At the time, I had no use for carrying school supplies around, but having that as an option would have been greatly appreciated. It also seemed to be the just-right size. It probably held a few binders (you know - the ones with the zippers that went all the way around) and maybe whatever else a kid in grade 7 needed.  The best part, though, was the way the whole thing zippered up. Rather than zipping vertically, the zipper opened up around the front, in the same way you’d imagine the earth orbits the sun. As a consequence, it created a top flap that could be peeled way back to expose the important contents. I used to watch his cool backpack and wonder whether I would ever acquire something like that. To this day, I never have. But I’ve tried damn hard to find something as good.

Backpacks aren’t quite like shoes. They are, I think, designed to be a little more longer lasting and they fit differently (obviously - have you ever tried to wear a backpack on your feet? It DOES NOT WORK). They’re also far more utilitarian. Sure a good pair of shoes will keep your feet safe from the elements but a backpack will either carry what you need it to or it will not carry enough. There isn’t really any sort of in-between. Disregard any extra space. Even if the space inside of a backpack is unoccupied, it will still carry what you need.

So I’ve never been able to find a backpack quite like Tanner’s. I suppose I could have saved up my money at the time and bought one. Backpacks aren’t quite like shoes or pants in that respect either. They may change colour schemes, but it seems like their manufacturing jigs or whatever are designed so that they can keep reproducing the same bags for years at a time. The uncool or useless bags probably don’t make it long, but ones like Tanner had probably lived many years. A Burton backpack at the time was probably kind of expensive. Like over a hundred dollars expensive. At the time, I wouldn’t have seen the utility in spending that kind of money on a backpack. But I for sure would now.

I can’t tell you how many backpacks I’ve owned since then. If I had to estimate, I would probably say its somewhere in the range of 15-20. I once bought a knock-off bag, that was probably pretty similar to Tanner’s bag but it didn’t have the same hemispherical opening. I’ve probably spent far more dollars on trying to find a bag like Tanner’s, rather than just buying the actual one that I wanted.

A few years ago, I bought myself a pretty fancy travel backpack. If I had to tell you how many litres it is, I would say it’s approximately 49L in the main bag and it has a little daypack that can be attached, which is roughly 15L. Those sorts of measurements are very important for a number of reasons. The most important reason is that airlines have size limitations on the size of bag you can stow in the overhead compartment. That is an ideal feature of a travel bag, because it saves you from having to check it and wait for it on the carousel, which can sometimes take a really long time, especially in big international airports. 

The problem with that pack, however, was that it didn’t really work as a day-to-day bag. It was too big and didn’t have any real organization. One of its purported features is that the bag zipper opens entirely, so that you can access everything on command just like you can with a suitcase. Here’s the rub, though: as soon as you open it, everything just goes flying and it’s impossible to keep it all contained. That sort of feature is fine if you want to just toss the bag on the floor of your apartment for a few days but it really, badly sucks if you plan on using it for hauling groceries or carrying your clean clothes to work. 

In the middle of 2016, when my car died, I was forced to get all my groceries by bike. I say forced, but it’s actually really fun because I enjoy riding a bike and only buying what I can fit on my back. [Which makes buying eggs a challenge, but I may have found a solution for that.] So the big travel pack sucks because it flops open. But I have other backpacks (of course I do). One of them is a little 25L daypack that has a pretty good internal organization system. I can keep all my pens in there, solidly. I can also store a camera, my phone charger, and a bunch of other daily-use nicknacks. It’s great for that reason, BUT IT’S ONLY 25L. That’s not very good for groceries. It’s also not very good if I want to travel with it because 25L is too small for anything more than a day or two of travel (I’ve tested that and can confirm). 

My plan for 2016 was to find a backpack that fulfilled as many needs as possible, so that I could - possibly, hopefully - get rid of the excess backpacks. If I could somehow find a bag that was mid-sized (30-40L), with a bit of organization potential, and that was cool enough to use on a daily basis, I could turn two backpacks into one. I thought I found a bag like that in the summer time. It was actually a nice grey with some green highlights. It had one pocket that held quite a bit, it seemed to fit me nicely, and the price itself was reasonable. [Speaking of that car that died - the money I made from its sale basically covered a new backpack and a helmet.] I bought it. I tested it out for a few months, knowing if I wasn’t totally satisfied, I could return it to the store where I bought it. I am the guy that does that, and I am okay with that. If you implement a policy that generous, I will take full advantage. Not sorry about that. 

I used that backpack for a solid couple of months. I didn’t quite like it as much as my 25L, so I kept using my 25L for a lot of things. I STILL HAD TWO BACKPACKS. I tried to trick myself into thinking that it was good enough and that I should keep it around as a result. A part of me didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t the right bag; it became a bit of an ego thing. I started to consider its actual problems though: 1. it was long and narrow. Although it held “35L,” the way that it did so seemed to create a lot of wasted space. Wider objects were not easily adaptable. 2. It had a zip closure, which meant that if it was tightly packed it was very hard to shut. Granted, it was semi-hemispherical, which made it great for access but it still sucked a little bit. 3. It had a weird back-panel thing, which made me feel like I couldn’t take it out everywhere I went. If I wanted to rest it on the ground, it would kind of flop over and just get kind of awkward. I’m not really into that. 

Of course you know where this story is going: I got rid of that backpack and got my money back. I think I probably bought some running gear with the money, which was probably a more effective thing to spend my money on anyway. I begrudgingly went back to using the 25L (25L!!!).

Around the end of 2016, though, I decided that I needed to start looking again for something. I planned to move farther away from work, which meant I’d need to have some space available for hauling stuff on my way to and from work. I also just got jazzed up a bit by the social marketing regime of a particular bag company. With eyes wide open, I started to look into a variety of bags. I had one in mind (oh, did I ever), but I overthought my decision. I started analyzing every possible feature and dimension. I made spreadsheets in my head: this one is x L, that one comes with a rain cover, the other one has a nice suspension system. I didn’t think about Tanner in that moment, but I considered maybe what Tanner may have done. Or at least I considered what I would have done if i was thinking about Tanner’s backpack.

But it wasn’t that easy. Even though I had a feature set in mind, and easy access to the online purchasing platform, there was still something holding me back. If I bought this particular bag, I wouldn’t have the same easy access to a generous return policy. The bag was coming from afar, so I had to either buy it or not. It wasn’t worth my effort (or money) to vacillate. I’d put it in my shopping cart, and then at the last minute I would hit cancel. I ran the numbers quite a few times and for sure I could afford it. The money from my car was still technically out there in my bank account.

Eventually, after deciding to book a trip to Toronto, I decided I wanted to have a super dope backpack for that trip. I stopped considering all of the other possible bags that may have worked. I simply committed to this particular bag, knowing that it satisfied most of my requirements. It didn’t have the hemispherical opening that Tanner’s bag had. I don’t think it would have been my first pick as a result. But let me tell you: after using it for the last few months, I have come to realize how excellent (nothing is perfect) it is for me. 

Here are some of it’s features: 1. it is adaptable. Despite it being listed as 40L, I can cinch it up and make it feel a lot smaller and more aero. It’s a top-loading bag with a draw string, though, so I can keep adding stuff even though it looks like it’s full. I’ve already pushed it to its maximum capacity in some ways, and it’s still worked out for me. 2. It looks pretty cool, to be honest. It has a lot of hidden pieces of webbing, which add to its utility and convenience. 3. I have yet to see the same bag in town. It’s rare; it’s unique. 4. It has a rain cover and a pretty loose fitting outside pocket. Both of those things will come in handy. 5. It’s small enough for the overhead bin, and large enough for almost two weeks of travel. 6. It’s wide enough that I can store wide things, but maintain a modularity mentality. If that’s complicated, it probably is. I like using smaller, internal bags.

I am actually amazed with myself. Once I realized what I wanted in a backpack, I just went for it, confidently (even if it took me a few weeks to finally decide). I made use of my internal checklist of what was important but I haven’t belaboured the decision. I’ve just used the backpack every day, hauling what I need to. Some days there is open space inside of the bag, but at least I can still carry everything I need to. I’d rather have that open space than a zipper that doesn’t quite close. A zipper that doesn’t close is stressful, because I often felt like it would break. I don’t want things to break. I want things to be strong and adaptable, and useful. When things have those features, my life is a lot more fun. I can focus on what I do with the backpack, rather than focusing on the backpack itself. Over time, the backpack just becomes a part of life. We will travel together. We will carry stuff together, like groceries and books and whatever else I pick up from the post office.

I think I’m still talking about backpacks. 

[ayeio]

It’s a trap

Lately I have been meditation quite a bit. By my most recent estimate, I’m up to about a 50 day streak. I’m sure that the experts would say that I’ve developed a habit by this point. Now, when I wake up, it’s the first thing that I think about. I just get on my pillow and get right to it. I’ve read a lot about this process - not just the habit or ritual - but about the actual act of meditating. It is supposed to help the brain. It is supposed to slow things down a bit, and allow one to see thoughts for what they are: fleeting moments that come and go. I can learn to control this stuff, I’m told.

I am, however, really struggling. When I’m sitting on my pillow (or zafu, as its formally called), I can count to ten and then ten again. I can be in that moment. As soon as I stand up and continue on with my day, though, I am bombarded by a whole bunch of distractions: facebook, instagram, instant messaging, text messages. All that stuff. The signal to noise ratio is, at times, completely unbearable. I can harness the output of my brain (as I write this right now, I feel myself doing just that), but anytime there is a little red dot or a ping some other type of notification, I am completely taken. I have also noticed that the sender matters. I have a lot of important people in my life, but I also feel like I can wait on some of those messages or pings or notifications.

I remember when I was a kid, I used to sit on ICQ and wait for someone to message me. No one ever did. I was repeatedly the one who messaged first and if I didn’t get a reply I would go on some random chat with some person. I got really good at finding out a lot of superficial information out in a very short period of time. A/S/L was just the starting point. People, and especially the attributes they are able to communicate online, eventually converge on a lot of similarities. I don’t like to compare, necessarily, but over time it is easy to build composites. Each person I meet has this trait and acts toward me like that. It’s not healthy. Everyone is an individual, but I’m still stuck with this belief and view of people.

While this skill (is it a skill?) helps me to differentiate people and figure out who is my people, I very much struggle to compartmentalize myself. I’m a little bit of this and a little bit of that. And as soon as I think someone can -type me, I throw a wrench or a curveball and really emphasize my individuality.

There is something lurking in the back of my mind. It’s a bit of self doubt coupled with fear of the unknown. I know that I have the ability and the strength to stay on track and achieve what I want to achieve, but there’s something niggling there. Its existence, just below the substrate, is affected by what’s going on outside of my own head. 

I apologize, to myself, for the rambling nature of this post. I am working through a few different thoughts and need to get the fingers buzzing. I have other stuff to write.

[ayeio]

11:02, Wednesday

Something is going on. I can’t quite figure out what it is. Upheaval, or some type of shock to the system. I’m sitting here at 11:02 on a Wednesday. I’m tired, but I’m not tired. I’ve tried. I’ve worked hard. I’ve pored and I’ve poured. There’re scattered papers beneath my brow and organized papers at my feet. I’m going places, soon. I’m driving. And packing up all my things and emptying them in a new space. I’ll probably fly somewhere too. I’ve got the itch. I’m itching to go. I’ve got new people in my life, and old feelings occupying my mind. I can’t tell if they’re connected. I can’t tell if there are scars in there or if I’m just scared. One side of my brain is saying do it do it, while the middle pauses and asks but how. There’s neither a here nor a there when you focus on the now. I’m currently. “I’m a current, Lee,” is the electrified way of describing some type of anthropomorphic energy wave. When lightning strikes the court, the lights get dim, supreme competition is about to begin.

And this, my friends, is how you warm up to write.

[ayeio]

It feels like forever

It feels like forever since I came here to write, since I dreamed the things I used to dream.

It seems like forever since I looked in that way since I looked that way since I looked inside.

It’s been darker these last few weeks, but there is something in the works.

[ayeio]

One great city

In case you're wondering how I'm doing in Winnipeg, I have a story for you.

Today I was riding home from work. Instead of going straight home from work, I decided I needed to stop for a new uniform for my dodgeball team - cut off jean shorts, as we are the "never nudes." I was listening to a musician named Jon Bryant, whom I saw at a house concert this weekend and will see again next week at the Park Theatre. As I was riding on the bike trail along the river (right past the Golden Boy - keep doing what you're doing), I rode behind a man who was carrying a woman on his rear rack. I slowed my pace and chatted with them as I rode under the bridge until the curling rink. Once I parted ways with them, I saw my friend Will, who is also on my dodgeball team. Within about three blocks, I saw another colleague in front of another friend's apartment, across the street from where they filmed a Hallmark movie recently. As I was talking to my colleague, the child he was with was peeing on the street (facing traffic) shouting "wait for me, don't leave." I chuckled to my colleague and continued on to the thrift store. I managed to find a $6 pair of jeans, and also discovered that the thrift store had a pretty healthy VHS collection. Another friend is an avid VHS collector, so I passed along the message. If that wasn't enough, I stopped by Stella's for a cookie and gave my change to a nice young man out front. I then pedalled home on a well-paved bike lane that only required me to make one right turn to get to my apartment.

The only bad part about this story is that the jeans are women's, and they don't fit me very well. I will have to donate them to someone else and figure something out for tomorrow's game. Aside from that very minor hang-up, I can safely say that Winnipeg is home and I love it here.

[ayeio]

Like this

Inspired by Rumi, I wrote this as a speech for my brother’s wedding:

[...personal introduction]

But then it came to me. I had an idea. Everything starts with an idea. And this one goes just

Like this.

When you merge together two people, two families, you end up with a party

Like this.

When love strikes at a lacrosse game, you end up with a union that looks a little

Like this.

Love itself can be a joy but the stories that it tells is where its true spirit lies

Like this.

Faraway travel bowling and dodgeball jerseys, Donaldson and grandslams jean jackets two-steps and vitamin J beer, more beer, and friendship makes it more than romance; it makes it just

Like this.

If someone asks you what the love of your life looks like, respond with a gigantic full-bodied hug a caress of the face a whisper in the ear a brief moment of passion on the lips, and think to one another:

Like this.

Arguments and stubbornness Feelings of anger and frustration But always settling with each other

Like this.

The support of one another and the power to achieve all of your dreams is what makes a true partnership; a union like no other requires your unbridled support

Like this.

Love isn't always sunshine and rainbows Sometimes it stinks but you wish it didn't But when you've got a lot of love to share it's easy enough to put things together

Like this.

When the magic starts to fade and the passion takes a pause reach deep into your heart and express yourself

Like this.

[ayeio]

I’m a runner, apparently

This isn’t my intended post about running. Instead, it’s my warm-up post about running. Like running itself, it will take a few tries and a little getting used to. This one is a bit more free-flowing without the need for any specific analysis.

A few years back, I started running casually. Specifically, I would run from one bridge to the others when I lived in Japan. I never mapped it out, but I think it was about 4-5 km from start to finish, and I eventually quickened my pace. I did it just to burn off steam before going to bed. I’d run at like midnight, and it just felt really nice to be out in the evening air. No matter what exercise I’d done in the day prior, these runs would just prove effective in getting that last sliver out.

When I returned to Canada - and back to University - I kind of stopped running. My priorities shifted and I started to believe that school had to be the sole focus of my life. My health levels slipped, and I gave up on an activity that had previously given me joy. I missed it, though, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before I picked it up again. 

I graduated university young. I was 23 when I had my degree and entered the work force. That’s young. I felt so out of place. But I felt like I had to ride the wave of being young and doing things. I decided that I wanted to do a few things before I reached 25: write a book and run a marathon. Unfortunately, I did neither, which led to a pretty sad self-defeating attitude, where I treated myself as an utter failure. It was awful, and I’m glad that it didn’t last.

Around that time, I decided that I would take up running again. It was on the wrong terms and in the wrong circumstances. I didn’t actually enjoy it, and I frequently treated it as something that I simply had to do. I even made comparisons to other things in life, and basically subscribed to the philosophy that it’s difficult and necessary. For what, you might ask. For life, in general.

In 2011, I trained for my first half marathon. Due to weather and delays in registering for the race, I didn’t actually run it. I ended up doing a long run with my brother but it wasn’t actually a race and my time was nothing to brag about. But it was fun. In 2012, I tried again. That time, I found a training schedule and followed it relatively close. I ran three times a week, but I didn’t focus on my form, my speed, or anything other than logging miles begrudgingly. Also by this time, I had gotten depressed, put on weight, and wasn’t happy with my place in life. In other words, it wasn’t the ideal time to take up a hobby like running. But it was necessary. In 2012, I ran my first actual half marathon. I finished in 1:52. After running that day, I didn’t run again for about two years. I was done with running, it seemed.

A few months ago, I decided that I wasn’t done, though. On black Friday 2015 I went out and got myself a new pair of running shoes. I started running on the treadmill 2-3 times a week, for about 30 minutes at a time. It was tough. I didn’t like running on the treadmill and I could feel the effects of not running for a few years and also leaving the sport in the way that I did. I had still had an unhealthy relationship to running. It was awkward. But I pushed on. I started reading inspirational about people that triumphed in physical ways. I recalled my own bike tour last summer. I developed an attitude that allowed me to run long distances.

Then the hard work came.

I found myself a training regime and I followed it to a tee. Tuesdays and Thursdays were training runs (speed work, etc.) and Saturdays were reserved for longer runs. I was going to build mileage and build strength. During this whole time I watched youtube videos and read a lot about form. I drastically changed my heel-strike form into basically running on my toes, and I got badly injured. I developed a really bad case of tendinitis in my Achilles, which put me out. I went from running a lot and doing a lot of exercise, to feeling like I needed to just put my feet up and sit around. This was not for me. I was not meant to live that sort of lifestyle. I’m a doer, dammit.

After about six weeks of misery (the physical pain and the related depression), the pain just sort of vanished. I ran slightly one day, then a few days later I was back on the trail, running a few kilometers at a time. I was all smiles and it felt amazing. If ever there was a time for me to say “I’m back,” that was it.

The problem, though, was that I hadn’t run for six weeks during the critical training period. My mileage was pretty low, considering I was training for a half marathon. I hadn’t run anything more than about 15 km, and my speed work had all but stopped. But I kept my mental attitude, and I kept thinking about how I needed to run in order to run fast and consistent. I had the mindfulness that I needed to run.

Today, at 5:30 am, I woke up and drove a half hour to the running spot. I had some toast with jam for breakfast and filled myself up with enough water that wouldn’t require me to pee mid race. I was feeling great. I was feeling strong and powerful and like I could do whatever I set my mind to.

And I did. I ran the half marathon in 1:40. I shaved about 12 minutes off of my first race time, despite not being able to train for about 6 weeks. There were times during the race when I felt lazy. That sounds odd to say, but I just felt like I wasn’t paying attention. And whenever that happened, I would pay more attention and send all of my energy to the muscles in my feet, my calves, and my thighs. And then my pace would quicken. I quickened the pace a little more at a time, and passed a few people. It felt like I accomplished exactly what I set out to do.

My time was a new personal best for me. True, it’s only the second of two races. I was also tied for 7th place as a result. I’ve never done that before. I’ve finished top ten in BMX, but I’ve never done so well in conventional sports like this.

The best part of this all is that I’m not going to give up from now. This is only the first race of many. I’m going to keep running this year, and hopefully into the future. I have friends who push me. I’m chasing my brother’s personal best. And I have a running partner who is also committed to incremental improvement. I feel so grateful.

And I guess at the end of this, I can call myself a runner. There, I said it. I don’t just run because it’s difficult and necessary. I run because I enjoy it. I run because I’m improving. Even if the running is painful, I tell myself something important: I am doing this to myself. Whatever pain I am feeling is going to be the greatest pain I feel, but it’s self inflicted. There is a joy in knowing that the harshest pain I may feel is that I have control of it. No one else can cause me greater pain than I can cause myself. I have the power.

I’m a runner.

[ayeio]

OK bikes

OK, I will say one thing about bikes.

I’ve been riding my bike in “fixed gear” mode lately. I want to build strength and keep my cadence up. It’s okay for right now.

Holy hannah, I can’t forget that it’s a fixed gear though. As soon as I stop pedalling, my feet get snapped off and I run the risk of getting a pedal to the calf. Or worse, I run the risk of getting thrown over the bars. It’s a horrifying proposition.

But it’s fine as long as I remember to pay attention.

[ayeio]

how I dress so cool: why supporting your friends is always a good thing

I don’t really feel like writing a book review (or about the connection between running and writing) and I think that the subject of bikes is really broad and I don’t want to explore any particular aspect of bikes. Instead, I am going to write about how I’m such a “natty dresser.” (That, by the way, is a comment that has actually been made about me. I don’t know that I agree, necessarily.)

I have no idea what I’m listening to write now. It’s some sort of hybrid between shitty rap, shitty electronic music, and shitty R&B. Each of those genres can be quite enjoyable on their own. There are even times when the lesser quality stuff get some airplay because it can be fun to listen to. But when you combine the shitty version of a few different genres, what you get is...exactly what I’m listening to. I could change it, but where’s the fun in that.

One of the main reasons I am listening to the music I’m listening to is because I use a particular streaming music for my music. It’s probably a data-mining genius, and is logging all sorts of things that I do online. It’s also designed to suggest music to me algorithmically. The more I listen to music of my choosing, the more it suggests music that I will actually like. It’s scientific. That’s partly the reason why I don’t bother changing the music that’s streaming. A supercomputer somewhere in some foreign country has told me that I will like something, and I sort of do. Even though it’s sort of a shitty hybrid.

My music consumption as of late hasn’t been very intentional. Often I find an artist that I like, then stream that artist’s latest album until I get sick of it. If I’m smart about it, I’ll do that with a few different artists, which allows me to switch between each album to extend the time period of enjoyment. The enjoyment period. The period of enjoyment. The duration for which I can listen to the same album repeatedly before I tire of it. I’m sure the streaming services out there can even tell me what that number is. It probably is based on statistical averages of the number of times that other people have listened to a particular album and not gotten sick of it. Or listened to it and gotten sick of it. 

This sort of automatic living is, in a word, uninspiring. If I spend too much time in this sort of lifestyle, I feel like I’m floating through my own existence. Not like Tarzan - swinging root to root - but more like some sort of space cadet that’s riding one of those metaphysical high-clouds. I’m not high, but that’s sort of the way that I feel when it comes to floating. I’m being guided by an unconscious force. I’m enjoying myself enough, but my self is sort of drifting away.

A lot of my music suggestions in life have come from friends. I’ve had a few key influencers in my life that have guided me through empty periods of music. Through them, I’ve been able to find stuff that I like. Friends are sort of like that. A real friend will have enough similar interests that you can share things and build off of one another.

In addition to friends that share music, I know quite a few people that are into making stuff. Some of them make zines, some of them make clothes, some of them make music. And some of them make me crazy. (That’s a joke!) Like the music providers, I try and take my maker friends seriously. Making stuff can be hard labour, and I will most often lend my support to those who put their stuff into the market.

This is especially so when it comes to clothing. I would say that most of my t-shirts are from friends. They either have a friend’s brand or a friend’s event plastered somewhere. If I had to choose my own t-shirts to buy, I would probably just get some plain grey ones (or maybe spruce it up with some solid colours) and be done with it. I like simplicity, but I also like to support the efforts of my friends.

When it comes down to it, I like when objects have stories. I like buying stuff from retired people on kijiji, because you never know what sort of back story exists for the product you’re buying. It becomes less about the object and more about what went into the object, or something. It’s really no different buying stuff from friends. Another benefit of this process is that it reduces the number of needless decisions I need to make. No longer do I need to go to a mall and try on fifteen different hats before I walk out of the store with one I barely like. I’ll just take the one that my friend made. It’s one colour and it comes in one size, which really streamlines the whole buying process.

For me, this is just adding to a more intentional lifestyle. My buying decisions are mostly based around who I can support and how. It can result in me making unexpected purchases (which can sometimes affect my budget or lack of a budget), but it serves a psychological benefit, long term. I don’t have to worry about finding some perfect object in a sea of options. I just accept the options as they are handed to me.

I don’t like drawing attention to myself unnecessarily, and I sometimes feel uncomfortable when I get complimented for my clothes. But on the other hand, I really enjoy being able to say where my hat came from. I like being able to say something more than “I bought it at the mall.” More importantly, I like being able to show off the works of my friends. It’s a respect thing. Or something.