Failing better

When it comes to love, mistakes, I've made a few as Frank sang so eloquently.

At the ripe old age of... Ummm, no. I’m not actually going to share how old I am! So at the ripe old age of XYZ, I’ve had two long term relationships, one of which was an 8 year partnership with my now ex-husband. While the relationship did not last, I consider that it succeeded and failed equally along the way. We dissolved our union amicably and went our separate ways. Since then, I’ve dated on and off with mixed results. 

First came the alcoholic. Oh he was exciting at first! And he hid his drinking incredibly well. Or I didn't see it. Or I didn't want to see it. Not initially anyway. He was so much FUN, light hearted, kind and generous to fault, the kind of man who wouldn’t hurt a fly. And, he had no idea how to take care of himself. None. If our partners provide a mirror of ourselves, this one reflected how badly I needed to learn to take care of myself, for myself. The relationship lasted longer than it should have. 

Second came the dutiful son. He was the perfect antidote to the alcoholic. He was über responsible, hardly ever drank, was hard wired to a daily/weekly/yearly routine that hadn't changed in over a decade. Fun was not part of his vocabulary. Due to circumstances that had been thrust upon him at a younger age, he had given up on what he really wanted out of life and “made do.” Turns out, I was “making do” too. The relationship petered out after a year and a half. 

Third came the lightning bolt. He was older, the most handsome man I've ever met, accomplished, confident, well traveled, well read, and he went out of his way to sweep me off my feet. Falling for him came hard AND fast, hence the lightning bolt status. He was also emotionally unavailable and hurtful. From the very beginning, I never felt "good enough" which led to my confidence and my self-esteem dwindling to almost nothing. I wanted him to love and respect me but I wasn’t loving or respecting myself. This one didn’t last long but it took a while to get over it.

Taking care of myself. Never giving up on my dreams. Respecting and loving myself.

These are important lessons I learned by failing at these three relationships. In the end, it’s not about finding the perfect partner, but a perfectly good one. There is a difference in my book. It's about finding someone who fits with you and will stick by you - and vice versa - through the ups and downs of life, whether they are your high school sweetheart or someone you meet later on in life.

I am grateful for these failures. I won't stop trying because failing better, means succeeding better. Ask any entrepreneur worth their salt. 

Summer

Summer. I am grateful for summer. For anyone who has known for more than a few months, this may come as a bit of a surprise. For those who have been around for a while - family and friends - it will sound like downright heresy to them.

You see, I grew up in Québec City, Montréal and Toronto. Summer in these Canadian cities are sizzling, humid and as far as I’m concerned, uncomfortable. As much fun as it was going to the international fireworks competition, Just For Laughs, the Montreal Jazz Festival, to the neighbourhood public pool or up Mont-Royal for shenanigans, summer weather was stifling and mostly unbearable... to me. The return of fall and winter was always cause for celebration.

Since moving to Prince Edward Island however, I have developed and acquired a certain fondness for summer. There is something much gentler about summer on an island on the East Coast: there is water everywhere. And I’m not talking pools; I’m talking the ocean!

Whether you go for the white or red sand beach varieties, you are assured to find your very own perfect spot along the shore somewhere. Plus, there is almost always a breeze coming off the water. While it has become more humid in the 12 years I’ve lived here, the humidity is STILL not nearly as bad as my aforementioned hometowns.

Then there is the summer scenery comprised of the local fauna (foxes!) and flora but also of harbours, boats, and sunsets I never knew existed when I lived in the city. And on PEI, everything comes to life in the summer: there are more activities, more events... just more to enjoy and appreciate. In the big city, there is always something to do, no reason to slow down or speed up based on the seasons. The impact on the pace of life is not as extensively felt.

Don’t get me wrong. I suspect I will always be a winter kinda gal. It’s ingrained in my DNA. But I am more and more grateful for the many wonders summer has to offer.

All pics below by me, in and around PEI.

Falling in love with Prince Edward Island

It was in the fall of 2001 that I first set eyes on the province I would eventually call home. At the time, flying to the Island from Montreal was extremely pricey, pretty much double the average $ 500 you would pay today for round-trip airfare. Since the cost was prohibitive, I flew in to Moncton where my fella picked me up. After making our way through the Port Elgin roundabout, every kilometre closer to the Island exponentially increased the butterflies in my stomach.

As we drove up to Confederation Bridge, I caught my first glimpse of the Island: red cliffs bordered by choppy ocean waters, the curvy concrete link between two provinces, a lighthouse and small clusters of houses along the shore. To this very day, I get goose bumps when I picture it in my mind and recount that moment. Before I ever knew what would happen with the fella, I fell in love with the Island at first sight.

Thirteen years later, my love affair with Prince Edward Island continues.

 

Photo by me - May 2014

A new perspective

Social media is a source of all things real, fake, deep, superficial, new and old altogether and more, if that is at all possible. As one who appreciates a different perspective on “things,” the text below flipped “things” around for me in a powerful way. I cannot vouch for the source or even if this came from an actual therapist. But, I am grateful for having come across this particular item. It provided me with a much needed new perspective on... "things."

 No cry for help - source unconfirmed

I’m a therapist and keep this poster in my waiting room, apparently it saved a few lives.

I don’t like the phrase “a cry for help.” I just don’t like how it sounds. When somebody says to me, “I’m thinking about suicide, I have a plan; I just need a reason not to do it,” the last thing I see is helplessness.

I think: your depression has been beating you up for years. It has called you ugly and stupid and pathetic and a failure for so long that you’ve forgotten that it’s wrong. You don’t see any good in yourself and you don’t have any hope.

But still, here you are, you’ve come over to me, banged on my door and said “Hey! Staying alive is really hard right now! Just give me something to fight with! I don’t care if it’s a stick! Give me a stick and I can stay alive!”

How is that helpless? I think that’s incredible. You’re like a marine: trapped for years behind enemy lines, your gun has been taken away, you’re out of ammo, you’re malnourished and you’ve probably caught some kind of jungle virus that’s making you hallucinate giant spiders.

And you’re still just going, “Give me a stick. I’m not dying out here.”

“A cry for help” makes it sound like I’m supposed to take pity on you, but you don’t need my pity. This isn’t pathetic. This is the will to survive. This is how humans lived long enough to become the dominant species.

With no hope, running on nothing, you’re ready to cut through a hundred miles of hostile jungle with nothing but a stick, if that’s what it take to get to safety.

All I’m doing is handing out sticks.

You’re the one staying alive.