A New Home*
(Via: http://www.bbc.co.uk/herefordandworcester/content/images/2007/09/28/sunrise_01_406x304.jpg)
…surprise!
I’m still a little new to this whole new wordpress thing, but I have to admit… I reeeeeeeally like it. I’ve been flip flopping back and forth for months about whether or not to make the switch and I finally decided to take the plunge. I flirted with it briefly last fall when I tried the whole password-protected blog bit (to hide from my students) but I was so concerned with the hiding part that I didn’t actually explore wordpress.
I explored this weekend. My lovelies, I am converted.
So, why the change you ask? Especially when my posting has been sporadic (at best) of late? *cringe*
A while ago I joined the oh-so fabulous formspring.me and then left it alone. I logged in today and found this:
“Why do you never blog anymore?”
…I didn’t know what to answer. I still don’t. Last fall I lost… it. The drive. The inspiration. The magic. I’ve always loved writing, but some how the love just sort of fell away. I kept reading about all the excitement in your lives and I suppose I felt like I just didn’t have anything left to say. Somewhere along the way I realized that life has dealt me a hand I never expected and I’m in a place I never thought I’d be.
As a teenage girl I always imagined where my life would be at 25. I hoped I would be married, in a successful career with time to focus on beginning a professional writing career on the side. I saw myself living in a cute little house with lots of friends to go out with. I thought life would be full. Exciting! Successful.
When I graduated last spring I knew that finding a teaching position in southern Ontario would be difficult, but nothing could have prepared me for the past eight months. My inability to secure a teaching position has slowly but surely chipped away at my sense of self-confidence, self-worth and has often left me wondering if I have chosen the wrong career path.
…but then I have those moments teaching those students (who aren’t even really my students) and, even if just for a second, I remember why this career chose me. And I remember that I love teaching with every fiber of my being, and even though it’s emotionally exhausting, I keep trying. And waiting. And then waiting some more. And I go work at my little part-time job that often makes me feel like it’s sucking out all the knowledge I spent years cramming into my head because it is so mind-numbing. And I go to my french classes every week even though by the time Thursday gets here I’m so exhausted I can barely stand the thought of being out for another evening. And I spend all my other time volunteering at a high school on the tiny chance that there might be a job there for me next year. And while that thought is beyond exciting, the thought that that it is ever so remote and ever so many months away is sometimes so overwhelming that I can barely stand it.
And that, my lovelies, is what constantly occupies my thoughts of late, and I guess I thought that it would spill over here, into my happy place. I’ve spent so much time feeling like who I’ve become is so much less than what my potential is that sometimes it’s hard to focus on the good in my life. Being stuck in a terrible job, being out all the time and jumping through fiery hoops to try and get a real job just totally consumed me for a while.
But then I take a step back and remember that I have a wonderful, loving, fun husband who is a constant bright spot in my sometimes dark days. And I remember that I have a fabulous family and a beautiful six-month old niece who has completely captured my heart. I remember that while I may not have many close friends to go out with all the time, I do have amazing friends who are just a tiny bit too far away for my liking.
And I remember that all this is temporary, and that the only way I’m going to get through the rough patch is by focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel. I know that eventually a principal will realize that I am a great teacher and offer me a job that I’ll love; I know that I’ll be able to quit my crappy job and rediscover this magical thing called “free time”; and I know that through it all I’ll have the Hubster by my side.
So, let’s call this my “new beginning”. I know March is perhaps an odd time to “start over”, but January is entirely too far away at this point (even though the number of houses I saw with Christmas lights still up today would suggest otherwise). I loved my blogger blog, but I had so many issues with that template and I wanted a new home. A fresh start.
I’m sorry I’ve been so absent lately, but thank you for caring enough to call me out on it, whoever you are.
I’m back. :)
Love,
My Thoughts on Being Followed Home*
Holy toot.
I have to be honest, I was wholly overwhelmed by the response to my last post… so much so that it’s taken me a few days to digest all that’s come my way since I wrote it eight days ago. I’ve received multiple emails and phone calls, and I’ve lost count of the number of messages I’ve received through facebook and my blog. People I never expected to read my blog briefly stepped out of the shadows to express concern over my being followed home last week.
It’s been a bit of a whirlwind–I never expected such a… strong reaction to what I wrote. For me, writing down the events in detail was my way of walking through it again and processing what happened. I needed to relive it to remind myself that I was okay, and that it could have potentially been much, much worse. I needed to write it down so I could get it out and move past it, instead of pretending like nothing happened. I just needed to vent.
As your responses began pouring in I was so… overwhelmed by it all. I suddenly felt like what I had thought was a bad afternoon was an absolute disaster, and truthfully, I felt even less safe as the “what if”’s poured into my inbox. You see, I already have the biggest imagination there is… another reason I put it all down is so I wouldn’t go there–I am a champion at the WHAT IF?! game and I thought that if I wrote it down I could stop myself from playing that game. I really don’t need to imagine the rest of that scenario if even just one thing had turned out differently.
In the responses I received many of you expressed concern for my safety, expressed gratitude that I was okay, offered advice and made judgments on what happened and the choices I made that day.
So, I just wanted to clear up a few things as I’ve since had a chance to reflect on things and what all of you have said.
The most recurrent theme through all the responses I had was about why I chose not to call the police. To that I can only answer: I don’t know. A friend of mine and I were talking about it last weekend and she said something that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all week. She put me on the spot and asked me about why I didn’t call the police, but before she let me answer she caught herself and said something to the effect of, “You know, it’s really so easy to analyze / judge a situation when you’re not the one in it.”
As so many of you have pointed out, I should’ve called the police. I know that. I also could have made a report afterward, but I chose not to. Whether or not it was the right choice, it was the one I made for myself. While the whole incident was happening it was just so… surreal. It honestly felt like a series of coincidences that I kept “bumping” into those guys, and while I knew something was wrong, my mind didn’t allow me to consider that I was being followed by three men until the last incident, after I was already home watching what was happening out my front window. Should I have called the police then? Probably. I just… I don’t know. I guess deep down I was afraid that calling the police would make the whole thing… real. And I know, I know, it was real and I should have accepted that at the grocery store but I didn’t. Would / will I do things differently if there is a next time? Yes. Have I learned from the experience? Yes.
I’ve also been strongly chided about my decision to leave the grocery store after being harassed for the second time. The only answer I have is that I honestly believed it was over. It’s not exactly an upscale store and I’ve been hit on in the store before, and every. single. time it ended at the door. While yes, I felt these men were more aggressive in their “pick-up” attempt and it made me uncomfortable, I had no qualms about leaving the store because I thought it had ended. Should I have told the manager about what had happened and stayed in the store? Absolutely. But I am foolish and pride myself on my independence.
All I can say is that when it happened all I could do was rationalize what was going on. I kept thinking, “they also must have needed groceries“, or “it’s just some young guys trying to have fun” or, “they just happened to pull out of the store and see me on the corner“. It was just how I responded to the situation and I realize that it was, well, stupid for me to think that way. But it is so hard to judge a situation unless you’re in it… I am a small town girl and while I hide it well, I’m afraid of everyone. I guess I just didn’t want to be that girl who overreacts to nothing. I know now that I should trust my gut when I feel something isn’t right.
Lastly, many of you commented on my statement that “nothing really happened”. I know that something happened, but I also know that it could have been so much worse, and that for many women, it has been. While I wanted to vent and get out what happened to me, I also didn’t want to write a huge “oh, poor me…” post and potentially offend someone who has been in a situation much worse than mine. I was scared, not hurt. That’s all I meant.
It’s been 10 days since it happened, and I’m happy to report that I haven’t seen them again. I’ve been especially cautious–I was driven wherever I needed to go for the first few days after it happened (the teacher I volunteer for even drove me home so I wouldn’t have to walk). I’ve been wearing different coats all week and if I am walking somewhere I never take the same route. I keep my phone in my hand at all times, and I let the Hubster know when I am arriving / leaving from any location. I avoided that plaza completely until yesterday and thankfully they weren’t there.
In some ways I’m sort of glad that it happened. It was a big wake up call, and I feel so… alert when I’m out now. It’s also been a huge learning experience for me, and I appreciate all the advice I’ve been given.
I’ve really never felt more loved and… well, humbled at the same time.
To those of you who expressed concern, I promise–I’m fine. :)
To those of you who offered advice– thank you. I went out and bought Gavin de Becker’s The Gift of Fear today and I’m already hooked. I’ll write a proper review once I’m finished.
To those of you who pointed out where I went wrong that day– I know. All I can say is, hind sight is 20 /20. Next time will be different.
To those of you who called and yelled at me– I love you too. :)
Followed*
As a blogger, I usually love when someone “follows” me.
In the real world? Not so much.
On Wednesday I had an experience that unnerved me so much that I felt real fear for the first time in ages. I’m normally a very cautious person. I’m the kind of girl who always checks the back seat whenever I get into my car at night, who locks the door to my home when I’m by myself, and who looks both ways before crossing the street. I love, love, love criminal-ish TV shows and I take a lot of the tips and advice given for women in those shows to heart. (well, the good parts anyway.)
A girl can never be too cautious, you know.
That being said, I think I’m also incredibly naive. I always look for the good in people, and I have this habit of thinking that bad things don’t happen where I live. Unless someone is in a hooded, black sweatshirt with dark sunglasses I’d never assume someone to be a danger to me.
I finished work fairly early on Wednesday afternoon, so I decided run a few errands on my way home. I live close enough to be able to walk to work, as well as to a grocery store, coffee shop and pharmacy. I decided to stop at the pharmacy first (they had some faaaabulous sales) and took my time perusing through the store. It was roughly 1:35pm when I left.
I then made my way over to the grocery store, which was just a stone’s throw across the street from the pharmacy. I’m a total day dreamer, so as I walked I was hopelessly lost in my thoughts–planning out the rest of my week and weekend as well as making a list of what I needed in my head. As I walked through the parking lot toward the store I became aware that a car was trailing behind me. Thinking that maybe it needed to pass by I move aside and continued walking.
For another second the car stayed behind me, then it honked twice and pulled up beside me. Thinking it might be someone I knew, I looked over to see three big guys inside (whom I had never seen before in my life). The one in the passenger seat whistled at me and I half-smiled and nodded without looking back. The car then pulled up closer to where I was and he leaned out:
Guy: “Hey beautiful. We just saw you walking and you looked so beautiful we had to stop.”
Me: *awkward laugh* “Uhh.. thanks!?”
Guy: “You busy? Wanna come hang out for a bit?”
**Sidenote: In hindsight, I probably could have told them off at this point and done something to turn them off completely, but at this point I was only mildly creeped out and didn’t think much of the situation. I’ve been honked at and hit on before, so I handled the situation how I normally do–kindly, but firmly.
Me: “No thanks. I’m just going to buy groceries.”
Guy: “What about after? I’ll wait.”
Me: *slowly becoming more creeped out* “Sorry, I have an appointment at 2. Gotta run.”
(Yes, I fibbed. But I thought it was for the greater good.)
Thankfully I had arrived at the doors to the store and slipped inside before any further conversation could be made. I should add that all of this transpired while one guy hung out the window of his buddy’s “ride”–TLC’s ‘No Scrubs’, anyone? Ha.
Thinking that was all done with (all previous pick up attempts by other guys would have ended by that point) I grabbed the things I needed and began walking toward the front of the store. As I exited one aisle I saw all three of them walking down the length of the store looking in every single aisle without going into any of them. I started feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach, but then I thought to myself, “Well, they were in a grocery store parking lot, maybe they just need groceries too”. I tried to duck into another aisle to hide but was spotted.
I suddenly made myself very interested in reading the backs of cereal boxes.
Guy: “Hey beautiful, we found you!”
Me: “Uhh, yup, you did.”
Guy: *pointing to my pharmacy bag* “Is that where you work?”
Me: “No.”
He then began firing all these personal questions at me, wanting to know my name, how old I was, where I worked, if I lived around there, etc. The worst part was how he looked at me–words cannot express how uncomfortable it felt. I did my best to dodge all of his questions and began walking to the checkout.
Guy: “So, can we hang out after your appointment? Why don’t you let us drive you there?”
Me: “No thanks. It’s in this plaza, and actually I’m married.“
Here’s the kicker.
Guy: “That’s okay, we can hang out anyway.”
Yeaaah. I knew I had to get out of there immediately. I said no again, and quickly made my way to the checkout. As soon as I got into my line I brightly engaged in a conversation with an elderly gentleman in front of me to keep myself occupied and prevent any further communication with the creepers. Thankfully they got into another line that finished before mine did and they left the store.
I breathed a sigh of relief and took my time bagging my groceries just to be sure they had gone.
As I walked toward the doors the sinking feeling I had felt in my gut earlier came back in full force. One of the guys was standing right outside the door watching me, like he had been waiting for me to come out. I gripped my bags and pushed forward.
Guy #2: “Hey beautiful. Find everything you need?”
I half smile and continue walking out.
Guy #2: “Come on, why don’t you let us drive you to your appointment. We can hang out after.”
Me (firmly): “No. I’m fine, I don’t need a ride.”
I begin walking in the direction of my apartment, which is away from the store and the plaza I was in.
Guy #2 (suspiciously): “I thought you said your appointment was in this plaza.”
Me: “It is.”
By this point I was walking as fast as my legs could carry me toward the first destination I saw, a coffee shop, which is roughly halfway between the store and my apartment. I felt like I was being watched the entire time. I took my time inside, bought a muffin and waited a few minutes before exiting through a different door to make sure I wouldn’t be seen.
I felt mildly victorious that I had successfully dodged such an aggressive pick-up as I stood on the street corner waiting to cross the street and enter my cute little apartment. My safe, happy place.
Then I saw the car.
And I saw the expression that said, “Found you!” as the car turned the corner and honked at me before (unknowingly) parking just outside the front door to my apartment.
The sinking feeling turned into full-blown panic. I knew I couldn’t go home as a) I’d have to go right past them, and b) they’d know where I lived, so I crossed the street and began walking in the opposite direction. The closest place I could think to hide was the rental office of my apartment complex so as soon as I was out of their line of sight I began running toward the office. I ducked inside and realized that I was shaking as I watched out the window of the door. I waited a few minutes before moving to the other side of the building to see if I could see them. I went back and forth for about 10 minutes, trying to decide what to do.
I hemmed and hawed over calling the police but eventually talked myself out of it because I thought that maybe I was overreacting. After all, I do watch a lot of criminal-ish shows and besides being overly aggressive and persistent with the pick-up attempt, I hadn’t been hurt in any way and I thought they they could play it off as us just being in the same place at the same time having a “friendly conversation” or something.
See how good I am at talking myself out of things? I realize now that I should have called.
After 10 – 15 minutes of hiding / waiting I decided to make a run for it. There are two ways to get back to my apartment from the rental office–an alleyway and a path that runs through the complex. I decided that the path was probably safer as parts of it are visible from the road and the entire pathway is visible from several apartments. I ducked my head out and looked around, and after being sure I couldn’t see anyone I crept out of the office and walked toward my apartment. When I got within 100 feet of my front door I saw a car that looked like theirs, but it was empty so I ran across the street and bolted inside.
I was still shaking a bit when I made it in, so (after bolting the door) I sat on my futon for a few minutes while I processed what had just happened. I stayed away from my front windows (which face the street) but I soon realized that I needed to distract myself, so I watched 10 – 15 minutes of a TV show to take my mind of things. As more time passed I began to relax, and after 20 minutes of being at home I figured that things were fine now. I turned off the TV and made my way to the kitchen to grab something to eat. As I was walking past my front windows I saw two of the three guys coming off the path that I had taken to get back to my house.
I dropped to the floor to avoid being seen and peered over my window sill as my heart raced through my chest. I looked at the clock and realized that there was a good possibility that they had been looking for me for twenty minutes after watching me disappear in the direction of the rental office. I couldn’t see their license plate from where I was, and I was afraid to stand up to get a better view for fear of being seen. I sat on the floor for a few minutes until I was sure they were gone before creeping back to my futon where I sat until the Hubster got home from work a few minutes later.
I instantly felt at ease when he walked through the door, and as I recounted the events of my afternoon he rushed to the window to see if they were still there and reiterated over and over that I should have called the police.
I know that nothing really happened and that in reality things could have been a lot worse, but I just feel so… violated. I’m supposed to feel safe in my neighbourhood, and most especially in my home… and I just feel like in a moment’s time they took that from me. Just knowing that they parked their car and got out to look for me, twice, is so unsettling. I’m now uneasy going to my grocery store and don’t even feel comfortable walking out my front door. I feel like I am looking over my shoulder all the time in case I see them again.
I just don’t like feeling anxious… and that’s how I feel whenever I go out.
Jerks.
Moral of the story? The next time someone hits on me I’ll just kick them in the shins and run.
Or call the police. You know.
Body Language*
So lately my body and I have started communicating… well, I suppose it would be much more correct to state that lately my body has been communicating more openly with me. I only just started listening.
It’s no secret that I’ve had a lot on the go these past few months. I was also just called as the Young Women’s President for my church (which basically means I get I “oversee” the female half of our youth program) and while I’m very excited about it, it’s also just one more thing to work into my already full schedule.
My mind is constantly processing how to work things into my schedule–”If I do this for this long, that leaves me time to do this and that, then tomorrow I can do THAT.”–but my body isn’t quite in sync, so it decided to speak up.
Two weeks ago I went to the gym. This is something I often do in the morning so it wasn’t out of routine, and I did what I normally do at the gym. Now then. Normally my legs feel a little like jello and whatnot post-gym, but this particular Monday my back decided to voice its opinion of my workout. By Monday night I couldn’t even bend over without feeling excruciating pain.
Message from body: “Slow down.”
My response: “Mmmmkay. I can take it easy for like… a day.”
I let my work know that I had hurt my back and while I couldn’t take time off I was able to reduce the amount of lifting and physical work I normally do. In a day or two I felt fine again.
Fast forward to the next Monday: I am back at work, doing normal workish things. I bend over to grab something and I swear someone jabbed a knife into my lower back. By the end of my shift I could barely walk without pain and I knew I had a problem.
Message from body: “Slow down, woman.”
My response: “FINE.”
I made my heating pad my best friend and further reduced my responsibilities at work. The pain slowly eased to a dull ache and so, after a couple of days I resumed my whirlwind schedule.
By Friday I was zipping through everything I needed to. I worked for a few hours, made dinner and spent a lovely date night with the Hubster watching movies. I’m often exhausted by the time the weekend rolls around, so I didn’t find it particularly odd that I felt so tired… I was just surprised that I couldn’t even stay away through Bones (one of my favourite TV shows). By 10:30pm I had already fallen asleep twice and knew it was time for bed.
I slept late the next morning. Sleeping in for me is usually 8:30am… but it was after 11 before I could drag myself out of bed. I was still exhausted, every inch of my skin ached and I felt light-headed. Showering took every ounce of my energy and it took all I had in me to make it back to my couch. I was tired, sore and had absolutely no appetite. Over the next two days I lost 2.5 pounds just from sheer lack of appetite and I slept at least 10 – 12 hours each day.
Message from body: “Slow the freak down, woman!”
My response: “…ugggggggggh.”
Needless to say, I slowed things down a bit. I spent 48 hours on my futon, watching movies in between naps–allowing time for my body (and my back) to heal. I’ve tried to slow down a bit where I can, and slowly but surely I’ve regained my appetite and strength, and my back is getting better. Now it just feels like I have a big bruise where I hurt it (lower back, right side)–the skin and muscles are tender. (Back experts of the world, what exactly did I do to myself?! Help? haha)
Anyway, I finally started listening: I’m doing too much. Time to cut out the crap.
Dear body,
I hear you. LET ME LIVE!
Love,
Shop Girl Goes Hunting*
(via: http://germanhistorydocs.ghi-dc.org/images/ACF809E.jpg)
I’m on the hunt.
Some people hunt animals. Some people hunt for rare treasure.
…I hunt for shoes.
Every so often I find that a beloved pair from my collection is coming close to retirement. It could be from old age, it could be from wear, or it could be from… *gasp* falling out of style.
I absolutely hate when this happens. I love my shoes. All of them. Sure, I play favourites, but all my shoes are family. There is seriously a lot of love here. It’s never fun when a shoe dies.
But I also have a secret: I love hunting.
You see, I’m really not the girl who can walk into a store, point to a shoe and say, “That one works. I’ll take it.”
Oh no.
I have a process. First I need to see all the available possibilities, then I narrow it down to a few favourites that I’ll examine carefully while thoughtfully pondering the wardrobe possibilities. THEN I try it on.
Then I repeat with every store in proximity. haha!
It’s not an easy process, you see. So when I did the summer / winter shoe swap this fall, (yes. I have to display my shoes by season… I can’t fit them all. Don’t judge me. ha) I pulled out my long-loved knee high black boots and realized it was almost time for them to go. When I first saw them eight years ago it was love at first sight–they are fitted without looking like I painted them on, they have a nice 2.5″ heel, a perfect slightly squared toe and best of all–they are so comfortable.
They are also almost completely worn out.
So, in November I began hunting for new boots. I wanted something that I could wear with both dress and casual; something comfortable but with nothing lower than a 2.5″ heel. I thought it would be a piece of cake. Carrie Bradshaw goes out and finds the perfect shoe every day, right?
Ha.
I’ve looked. And I’ve looked. I think I’ve seen every boot that exists in my city… and just none of them are speaking to me. I’ve looked at straight boots and slouchy boots and pointed toes and round toes and knee-highs and thigh-highs–my boot just isn’t there.
I know it sounds crazy, but I know that I’ll know it when I see it. I bond with my shoes. I heart them, you know.
I still love the look of a straight boot, but I think I’ve decided to go with a semi-slouchy boot this time, if I can find the one I want. This boot is the closest example of what I want that I’ve found, but they really don’t look as nice in person. I’m also mildly interested in this boot, but I also think the buckle and heel is a little too Matrix for me.
And so, the hunt continues. For now I’ve resorted to looking online at shoes I adore but can’t possibly afford… some day I’ll be a famous bajillionaire and I’ll have Carrie’s shoe closet. Just wait.
(courtesy of: http://www.barneys.com/Ginevra/159016305,default,pd.html)
(courtesy of: http://www.jimmychoo.com/Boots/Orchid/invt/000orchidkd958)If any of you are feeling particularly generous and want to buy me either of those boots, I promise I won’t say no. :)
