Brain Re-training Update at 2 Months

So, I'm two months into re-wiring my limbic system. While the minimum length of time I must commit to the practices of the DNRS program is 60 minutes daily for 6 months, the program developers and coaches state that many people notice changes within the first few weeks.

DNRS makes it very clear that recovery is not linear. There will be improvements, some large, some smaller, sometimes the body will take a step backwards as the limbic system tries to communicate using old neural pathways.

(c) Photos by Gina

I acknowledged some of the changes I had noticed by the one-month mark--mostly around improvements in energy, mood, and cognition. I've continued to remain diligent in my re-training practices, and I was curious to see where they would take me next.

I have certainly continued to enjoy the extra energy in my days; I can't recall the last time I needed a nap (!). Additionally, even after I engage in modestly strenuous tasks, I find the rest period needed is shorter; and I no longer feel at constant risk of a crash. I even managed to stay up late to watch the Perseids recently, without significant repercussions the following day.

I like having more spoons.

Over the last month, I have continued to notice shifts. A few that are more personal than I feel comfortable sharing, but I will comment on two:

First, I seem to be losing less hair. A couple years ago, I noticed there seemed to be a larger amount of hair in the shower trap after shampooing than I recall at any other point in time. I presumed this was related to a lack of nutrition. However, there is noticeably less hair in the shower trap (and in my brush) these days. My diet has not [yet] changed, my hair-washing and styling habits haven't changed, the quality of shampoo and conditioner hasn't changed... so I can only assume this is another benefit of my slowly-healing limbic system.

Second, I am experiencing fewer headaches, and less severity of pain when they occur. Over the last 2-3 years, OTC pain-relievers either didn't work or weren't tolerated, so to say that is a welcome change is an understatement!

Again, I share this journey with you for a few reasons. Part of the DNRS re-training involves creating as many positive associations and cues of safety in the brain as possible. Spending time in an elevated emotional state helps the brain get out of the fight/flight in which it's been stuck, and back to safe/social. Documenting my journey can help me remember that I'm making progress on those days where the non-linear aspect of recovery feels all too real.

Documenting is also a way to celebrate, both alone and with others. Friends and peers have commented that there's a vibrance in my presence, a freshness in my face. When I've shared what I'm noticing in my body, they have celebrated with me. This empathy is a piece of the recovery too.

And lastly, as I was reminded by a friend, but didn't articulate as clearly in my first post, my story may become someone else's survival guide. I have been poring through innumerable 'survival guides' over the last five years, and it has finally brought me here. Perhaps I can be the turning point for someone else down the road.

I Can't

I can't do it. I can’t celebrate Canada Day this year. In light of recent events, I’m not sure fireworks and memes and inspirational videos are appropriate.

Rather, every Canadian flag should be at half-mast this Canada Day.

I love Canada. And I believe we are a country capable and competent of taking the necessary actions for reparation and reconciliation. I believe the Canada Days of the future will be about the celebration of our hard work to be a more inclusive and just society--because we will have come to own our origin story, rather than dismiss it or outright hide it.

But I don’t think we’re there yet.

(I mean, if you had a friend with a rumoured sketchy past, would you feel comfortable hosting their birthday party if it came to light that they had murdered a bunch of people? I don’t know about you, but that’s kind of a deal-breaker in my relationships. There’s a lot of work that would need to be done there.) 

This Canada Day, I think we need to spend the time:

• Actually honouring the land treaties we have abused for years. Do you know who the first peoples were on the land that is now your home?

• Grieve the thousands of children who were taken from their families, traumatized in residential schools, and then buried there—nameless. Schools should not have cemeteries. 

• Make a personal commitment towards reparation and reconciliation. What is one action you will take today? Here are some ideas to get you started:
• Check your own bias, stereotypes, and assumptions.
• When it is pandemically safe to do so, participate in a blanket exercise in your community.
• Read the Truth & Reconciliation Commission's (TRC's) report and calls to action, and act on it.
• Start acknowledging the treaty land at gatherings you host.
• Donate to services that support those impacted by the generational trauma of growing up indigenous (shelters, mental health agencies, addictions recovery, etc.). 
• Make purchases from local businesses owned by indigenous individuals. 
• If you are Christian, ask your church what actions it takes towards reparation and reconciliation. Consider how you can use your voice for change in your faith community.
• Hold people [lovingly, but firmly] accountable for racist, derogatory language. Here’s a primer.

Yes, I am honoured to be a Canadian. I believe I am more than my ancestors’ bigotry and bad theology, and I believe Canada is more than that too. But this year, for me, Canada Day will involve reflection rather than celebration. Humility rather than pride. I am checking my privilege. I am doing the work.

#ThisIs20

I was still in university when I found this ragamuffin kitten, sprawled-out sleeping on the sofa in the dorm's lobby. I could only surmise that someone coming back from the bar the night before had let her in out of the -20C November cold. I am still thankful to that person.

I took her to the vet, which doubled as the humane society in my small university town. They said they would advertise in the local paper for three days, but if no one claimed her by then, they would have to put her down.

I told them to call me in three days.

I named her Princess--inspired by the word on a keychain I had at the time, it seemed fitting regardless, given her paper-bag-princess appearance when I found her.

And so began our journey together.

I remember thinking, "wow, I'll be, like, in my mid-30s by the time she lives her full life." It seemed like such a long way off. I couldn't fathom being that old. (Don't even.)

And yet, here we still are.

Akira is my sweet snuggler; Holly is my flirty delight; but, Princess is my OG.

She watched me become a fully-fledged adult, and came along for the ride. Princess has moved house with me eight times. She has been with me through a marriage and divorce. Through friendships that have lasted and others that have not. And through one pandemic.

She likes to be where I am. She has been both my study buddy and work buddy. She oversees my gardening, and occasionally nestles beside me in the hammock. She still greets me at the door when I come home. She still gives kisses.

She is 20.

I look at her bowed legs and stiff gait, and I know that this year could be her last. (And then she chases Holly's toy around the living room with an energy that belies her age, and I'm convinced she's going to be the first cat to live forever.) The vet continues to tell me that she looks amazing for her age. She's on some meds for pain and mood, but as long as she continues to eat, pee, and poop, I guess we'll continue on together.

I am happy to be her human as long as her little heart beats.

SOTC 339/365

I've had my iPhoneXR nine months, and am never not impressed with its photographic capabilities.

I've lived in Alberta 38 years, and am never not impressed with its topography.

Also, these two impressive features play well together.

SOTC 330/365

Red at night...

SOTC 327/365

Aware

I caught in my Twitter feed the other day that the High Level Bridge was being lit up for Food Allergy Awareness Week. My eyebrows furrowed; there's a Food Allergy Awareness week? (Of course there is.)

The High Level Bridge will be teal tonight for @FoodAllergyCAN's Food Allergy Awareness Week. #yeg #foodallergies https://t.co/3zEWsYStpo

— High Level Bridge (@YEG_HighLevel) May 17, 2019

I've become more aware of food allergies and sensitivities recently than I ever wanted to become. Something in my system short-circuited last year, and I now find myself allergic to gluten, dairy, egg, and soy. ...Plus a handful of intolerances on top of that.*

So when it comes to food these days, I'm aware of everything.

I'm not quite out of the woods yet in this journey, but I'd like to share a little bit of what I've learned with you. Let you into a bit of my reality. Because increased awareness of any cause or condition doesn't just come from lighting a bridge in pretty colours. It comes from the shared stories of the people who live the experience.

I am fortunate that my new "health condition" isn't debilitating or life-threatening. But it is chronic. And nevertheless life changing. My heart breathes a sigh of relief when I hold out my laundry list of allergies and am met with empathy.

May this shed light on how you might be that person to others as well.

So. Some thoughts on [my] food allergies in no particular order:


No, I can't cheat.

Allergies are an immune response. Every time I consume an allergen, it stresses out my immune system, thus putting my health at risk. Also, just because my allergies aren't life-threatening doesn't mean they don't make me uncomfortable. Stinging and watery eyes, congestion, heartburn, headaches, shortness of breath, lethargy... sure, that sounds like tons of fun; said no one, ever.

The intolerances are, in their own way, worse. With those, some foods don't get broken down like they should. Worst case scenario, molecules run the risk of passing through my intestines into my body and blood stream not fully metabolized--which could seriously damage my gut over time. Best case scenario is the molecules bypasses digestion and land in my colon, where they are glutted upon by my gut flora, causing uncomfortable bloating and/or socially embarrassing flatulence** for up to twelve hours.

So no, I'm not going to cheat.


No, there's no going back.

I've had people ask if I'm back to eating regular food yet. Here's the thing: I likely won't ever be going back to "regular" food. With the support of a registered dietician, I went through a rigorous elimination and reintroduction process.

But unlike so many eliminations these days, mine was not a fad cleanse.

It was a test.

Most foods passed the test. Several did not. And while allergies can disappear, my understanding is that it's more often the case with childhood allergies that people outgrow. Not sure how long it would take to "outgrow" allergies that start in one's late 30's, but I'm betting it's not anytime soon.


You're right, it is expensive.

I have heard the lament of those who are required to occasionally purchase allergen-free food for someone they know (I used to be one of those people). "Do you know how much it costs to buy the gluten-free kind?" Yes, yes I do. I pay nearly twice as much for 3/4 the amount of food than I did in my pre-allergy life. I also now shop at three different grocery stores, just to have the same variety in my food choices as those without allergies (no store seems to want to carry the same allergen-friendly brands as others; what is up with that?).

It takes extra money, time and energy, just do to the groceries. Consequently, if you are one of the people who have gone out of their way to buy or make me a Gina-friendly snack or meal, know that I absolutely love you.


Eating out sucks.

There is no clearer way to put it than that. For one, I now run the risk of coming across as "that person" with my litany of questions for the server, and the double-triple-checking I make them do. Turns out self-advocacy takes effort and courage--every single time.

In terms of actual eating, the only restaurants I have found--yet--where I can eat with 100% confidence is Freshii and Chopped Leaf, because I can make a custom salad.

But, you guys.

I am so. tired. of salad.

It seems to be all I can order in any mainstream restaurant. And even then, I generally need 2-3 ingredients removed or substituted. I am a salad connoisseur these days; not a title I ever anticipated having.


Travel is stressful.

Because of that eating out thing.

I am so grateful to live in a large urban area where I have at least half a chance at restaurants, as limited as my options may be. Cities also afford access to alternative-style restaurants that cater to diverse dietary requirements (I still have to modify whatever I order, but I feel less judged there. As well, staff at alternative restaurants seem to thrive on the challenge to make me a safe meal, rather than see it as a burden to have to modify the dish). However, when I travel, it generally involves passing through small towns where the definition of salad is iceberg lettuce with tomato and cucumber. That's not going to sustain me.

And even when I find a restaurant that is willing to accommodate, there is always just a hint of worry--what if they miss something? What if my symptoms are worse than before? It's one thing to experience symptoms and just go home; it's another to be out of province and feel crummy.

I'm a bit of a snack-hoarder these days when I travel; and yes, I do pack breakfast in my suitcase--one less meal to purchase is one less meal to stress about.


There was a grieving process.

It took me about four months to realize what I was feeling, but I've experienced legitimate grief in this whole process. I don't like cooking. While I would sometimes try making new dishes, I relied on a collection of easy go-to recipes, mixed in with the occasional convenience meal (e.g. frozen pizza). In addition to now having to make ev-er-y-thing from scratch, suddenly most of the recipes I'd curated over the last 15-20 years were not even an option.

I grieved the loss of this way of being; this routine; this familiarity.

Even more so, I grieved the loss of recipes that I not only enjoyed, but were associated with memories of being shared with others. I can't share those recipes again.

Unlike cooking, I quite enjoy baking. But still, I had to grieve the loss of recipes made for myself and others that could not be adapted, or did not adapt well when I tried (and oh, I tried). While I have started to find new and successful recipes for baked goods, my baking game is still not quite where it used to be. For many reasons, I am still searching for lost joy in this activity.

That being said...


You don't need to feel guilty about eating different food than me.

Okay, I can't actually tell you how to feel. But please know, I don't feel tempted or jealous, nor do I grieve, as you all eat your Hawaiian pizza with double cheese, and I enjoy herb chicken over rice. It's true, I know what I'm missing food-wise. But I also know what I'm missing symptom-wise. And while I'm still on the hunt for a few good alternatives to favourite dishes (like pizza), I am not lacking for good-tasting food overall. Especially as I can still have wine, and dark chocolate, and bacon...


I'm trying not to talk about it all the time.

Really.

I know it worms its way into the conversation every time food makes an appearance. I know it seemed like it was all that was on my mind at first. It was all that was on my mind at first.

It means a lot that you ask how I'm doing. I'm trying to get better at giving a meaningful but concise update; I'd like to get back to regular conversation around the table too. But for all the gains I've made in a year of trial, error, testing, adapting, changing, it still consumes a large portion of my thoughts and routines.

I don't need a bridge to remind me to be aware of food allergies; I'm never not aware.

I see others who've had adult-onset dietary conditions for much longer than myself, and they seem to engage relatively confidently with food. I know I'll get there. I so appreciate the patience and grace that is continually extended.

There is light at the end of this teal tunnel.

Maybe it's that pizza.

*The intolerances have been simmering for years; they just finally seem to have reached the tipping point.
**Like, I don't even want to be in the same room as me.

Can You Afford to Have Children?

As someone who is intimately involved with the Early Learning and Child Care pilot project here in Alberta (aka "$25/day daycare"), I often follow related posts on Twitter, and I inevitably read some of the comments.

I am careful to pick who I engage with--choosing to respond to those who seem like they have legitimate questions, concerns, or thoughts. ...And occasionally the wildly ignorant person who needs a quick slap of education.

However, one refrain I see in response to tweets related to the topic of universal childcare runs along the lines of, "if you can't afford to raise children, then don't have them."

This statement irks me to no end, but 280 characters does not even scratch the surface to respond appropriately. I've learned that for some, "raise children" means not putting them into child care at all. These individuals don't seem to understand that child care is not just glorified babysitting; early learning and child care centres are rich learning environments, and educators deserve way more respect from society than they often get. ...But that is a different post, for a different time.

However, I think most are simply implying that parents who are raising children should include the cost of child care in their budget if both parents choose, or are required, to work.

If you are one of the misinformed (or ignorant) who have made such statements as outlined above, then this post is for you.

First, let me come clean and admit that I have been guilty of making such statements. I acknowledge that I was young and naive, though those are explanations--not excuses--for such narrow-minded thinking.

I soon landed on a career path that involves working closely with families, and my eyes were quickly opened to the nearly infinite definitions and functions of family. We are long past living in the world of "mom and dad and 2.5 kids." Perhaps that's why the statement irks me so much. In addition to lacking empathy, such a statement fails to understand the complexity of families and life in general.

"Parents who can't afford to raise children shouldn't have them," you say?

• What about the family that decides they can afford to raise one child, then ends up with twins?

• What about the family whose child is born with an unforeseen disability? (Hint: it is often more expensive to raise children with disabilities)

• What about the family who thought they were done having children, then accidentally gets pregnant?

• What about the young woman who gets raped, and instead of aborting, chooses to keep and raise the child?

• What about the two-parent family who endures the death of a parent, and now lives off one income?

• What about the family who is required to relocate for work, to an area where the cost of living is higher than expected?

• What about the refugee family that had children in their home country before knowing they'd need to ask asylum out-of-continent?

• What about the family who ends up dealing with a chronic illness and its associated medical bills?

• What about the family who loses everything to fire or flood? (because that never happens in Alberta)

• What about the parent in a family who unexpectedly loses their job?

...I could go on.

Perhaps you're feeling defensive now, thinking, "but that's different--those are exceptions." No. They're not. Each one individually, maybe. However, many of those hypothetical situations are not rare, and collectively, they make up a sizeable amount of the families that live and grow in Alberta.

Some families are able to easily make the decision for one parent to stay home, or to have other family members help out with child care. If that's your family, and you have that luxury, go for it. I advocate for healthy families as much as I advocate for quality education.

However, for the parents that choose to, or are required to, put their children in child care, it should be quality and affordable--regardless of financial state.*

Knowing that life can change in an instant, can any family truly afford to raise a child outside of the present moment?

I'm not so sure.



*For further reading on why universal childcare might be beneficial to society, click here.

Right on Time

As a photographer, my knowledge of seasonal timelines is pretty good. I know that the tulips poke their noses through the earth by Spring Break always; that they'll be in full bloom by the beginning of May. I know the canola is at its best right in the middle of July. I know that November sunrises align well with my morning routine (and they are specTACular!).

And I know that autumn in Edmonton generally reaches its peak in the last week of September.

With not one--but two--snowfalls before the autumnal equinox, I thought for sure that any colour left after so many trees had lost still-green leaves would be a very short sight indeed. And since September is my busiest month work-wise anyway, I wasn't paying much attention.

But today I had a different commute than usual--one that took me over the river valley--and I could not help but catch sight of the colours.

Turns out autumn showed up right on time.

A Beautiful Hassle

Air travel is a hassle. Playing Tetris with everything you want to put in your suitcase. Getting up at ridiculous a.m. hours to get to the airport in the required time frame. Winding your way through security. Laptop out. Boarding pass out. Shoes off. Pat down.

You sit on a modestly comfortable lounge chair with your coffee. You are attached to your carry-on bags, which means sliding them into tiny washroom stalls, hoping all zips are closed and no straps are dangling.

You haul your belongings onto the plane, crawling over other passengers so you can squish yourself into your seat.

The flight is delayed, they need to de-ice the plane.

The smell of airplane, the nauseated feeling when the plane tips and your inner ear does not. Wet wipes for table trays, and trying to drink water without turbulence sloshing it all over you. Your ears pop.

The passenger in front of you has gas, the one beside you has mild BO. The person directly behind you just sneezed.

You land and wait to deplane--"we're just waiting on the ground crew"--and you notice that your connecting flight starts boarding in ten minutes. You race between terminals with your belongings, vaguely aware of the sweat forming under your clothing. Do I still have time to grab a Timmy's?

Yup, air travel is a hassle.

And air travel is beautiful.

Upon take off, this giant metal tube with hundreds of people inside defies gravity as cars, trees, and buildings get smaller. Despite all we have created and discovered--smart phones, space stations, cures for disease--there is something about good ol' fashioned air travel that reminds me of the power of human innovation. I am in awe.

Simultaneously, I am humbled. In my day-to-day activities, I am aware that I take up physical space. I am a driver on the road, a voice at team meetings, a being with agency and influence. In the air, I am a speck. We are all specks. This world was here before us and it will be here after we are buried beneath it or scattered across it. The world keeps moving along, whether I am down in the thick of it or flying above it.

I always try to get a window seat.* This is partially to reduce the potential for motion sickness, but mostly for the view. Because, the view. It is gorgeous and breathtaking and life-giving all at once.

As we move over the land, a sense of wonder takes over. Patchwork quilts of prairie fields go on forever; trees and rivers ribbon together; small flecks of white are sprinkled across the deepest blue ocean. We float above clouds that I swear I could hold in my hands.

Eventually we begin the descent. We glide parallel to mountain peaks in the distance. We drop through the clouds and circle around to orient the plane towards the runway. A calm lake below reflects the light so perfectly that I am seeing the sky with its cotton-ball clouds on the ground. The evening sun glints off vehicles below, and the city ripples with a glittery sparkle.

I take in a new landscape. That is quite the freeway interchange; wow, the water really is that blue. I am reconnected to the places I know. I'm pretty sure that's that street; oh yes, because over there is that building.

The harvest moon comes up as the wheels touch down, and a symphony of seat belts un-click. I'm about to start a new adventure, or throw myself into my favourite people, or collapse into that familiar bed.

It is all a hassle.
And it is all beautiful.
And I will take it every time.






* Current success rate: about 90%.

SOTC 282/365

SOTC 276/365

A Moment for the Kindness of Strangers

The kindness of strangers over the last 48 hours or so has floored me--to the point that I can no longer keep the gratitude to myself. For anyone who needs some faith restored in the humanity around them today...

To the five people who pushed my car up a hill in a snow storm: you started as two. And when the neighbours, shovelling their own way out of the snow, noticed that two was not enough, they dropped what they were doing and flanked you both to help. I did not get a chance to say a proper thank you, but I heard you cheering along with me as you gave one last push into the intersection. ...I just want you to know, I made it home.

To the woman who helped me remove a shard of glass from my finger: I don't even know what you look like. I tend to get tunnel vision when I'm focused on a critical task; so as I stood at the sink in a busy public bathroom, all I was focused on was my finger. But I heard your voice beside me--encouraging me to squeeze the cut for you so you could help remove the glass. I know I could have worked it out on my own, but you saw a way to make it easier. I didn't see your face, but I saw your gentle fingers come in alongside mine, and gently wipe the shard away. "There! We got it!" you exclaimed. The accomplishment was as much yours as mine in the end. I heard you dispose of the paper towel, finally in a head space where I could look up to see you. But you had already turned away towards the door--and then you were gone. I just want you to know, tending another's wound--no matter how small--is a brave thing in my mind. Thank you for your bravery.

To the Airbnb guest who insisted on helping me clear my driveway: when I said, "1900 square feet," I was not exaggerating, but you didn't seem to mind. You grabbed the shovel while I started up my snow thrower--you did your thing, I did mine. I may have taken on most of the surface area, but you tackled all the stairs and the uneven path to the back gate. As far as I'm concerned, that's like voluntarily taking the heel of a loaf of bread; I just want you to know, I am extremely grateful.

To the lady who gave me her parking pass: I'd been pretty much go-go-go all day. And at the end of the afternoon, with one meeting still left, I stood in front of the parking lot pay machine, pausing to consider my options on the screen. There is something to be said for a pause in a busy day. As you started your car, your voice cut through the traffic around me, "Do you want my pass?" Thank you for sharing. I just want you to know, it may have felt like a little thing, but it was a meaningful thing.

Source unknown

SOTC 268/365

New year, new perspective, right?

2017 in One Word OR SOTC 265/365

I started a new story. I spoke up for what I need. I let it go.  I listened with empathy. I had hard conversations. I found courage to try again. I asked for help. I offered help. I tried something new. I shared joy. I listened to my feelings. I voiced my feelings. I expressed my feelings. I acknowledged my mistakes. I forgave others. I forgave myself. I re-defined my boundaries. I lived in my integrity.

I chose

#IAmGrateful 1 (Also, SOTC 258/365)

Person

This girl.

Yup, this girl right here.

With her unassuming and quiet demeanour. With her father's eyes and her mother's hair and her grandmother's build; and her own spirit.

A quirky sense of humour.
A deep mind.
A loyal heart.

Ambition in her eyes and a book in her hand.
Purpose in her step and a camera around her neck.

I am grateful for the person I am, and the person I continue to evolve into. "A masterpiece and a work in progress, simultaneously."*

I can be tempted to put the word "too" in front of some self-descriptors like introverted, serious, linear, organized... and then I remind myself no! Not "too!" Because the world needs both; the talkers and the listeners, the silly and the serious, the care-free and the planners. I have moments of "too" (we all do), but on the whole, these and all my other qualities make up my being in just the right proportions.

I am grateful for my healthy dose of introversion; for my attention to details; for a naiveté most 30-somethings can't pull off... And for all the other bits and pieces of genetics and biology and relationship and life that make me one whole person.

#IAmGrateful




* Unknown

Getting Back to Grateful

Brene Brown, a qualitative researcher whose work I admire for many reasons, reminded me recently about gratitude. She clarifies that the practice of gratitude supports us to be joyful as we move through this broken world. I do know this; it's my default setting. But when I heard her speak to it again, I realized that I have kinda fallen out of that practice lately.

Oh, it's been one of those seasons. I feel like I've spent much of the last year or so being challenged in pretty much every arena--personal, professional, spiritual... a call to step up my courage, patience, empathy, forgiveness, trust, grace, bravery, daring, commitment, boundaries, persistence, resilience...

In all the hard work,* I have to admit, my joy has fallen a little flat.

I'm not exactly walking around ungrateful, per se. I just... it's hard to feel gratitude when you're trying to muster courage. When your heart is hurting. When you're focused on living in your integrity.  When you're trying something new. I've been increasingly aware of how my gratitude for this wide and wonderful world has become a bit overshadowed by stronger feelings I've been leaning into and exploring.

So I picked up a book from the library that's been sitting on my to-read list for ages--sometimes hearing another's perspective revitalizes us to shift our own--and I also thought I would try a gratitude challenge throughout the next month. Re-fuel, so to speak. Get back to my default setting.

Not surprisingly, I'm approaching this challenge with photography; it has always been a way to capture life around me to spark awe, wonder, delight and gratitude in myself and those with whom I share my images.

So here we go.

Do you need a practice-of-gratitude challenge too? It doesn’t have to be in pictures. You don’t even have to follow the prompts I’m using. But if you’ve found yourself in a season of heart-work that has squished your joy a bit (or outright flattened it), feel free to come wander back to gratefulness with me. :)

"The secret is to never lose sight of the simple, everyday miracles in life.

Good food, literature, laughter, music, compelling conversation, nature, and art.

Look for them in every day, and even when it feels like your whole world is unravelling,

you will never be too far from a needle and thread." -- Beau Taplin

*Important work. Rich work. Necessary work. Just... sometimes also hard work.

Where 100,000 Will Take You

I enjoy driving. I am my father's daughter in this regard, traversing whatever kilometres I must to get where I want to go. When I'm not commuting to and from work, I'd say the majority of my driving is to either visit the people I care most about, or to explore somewhere with my camera.

So is it any wonder that after four years of moving to and from these places with my current car (a Dodge Dart named Tom), he would hit his 100,000km mark on a road in rural Saskatchewan... a trip he has made many times to keep me connected to some of my favourite people.

Within Edmonton, I must admit that Tom and I have... struggled... to get along with the city streets.* But--we have always enjoyed the open road together. It is interesting where different seasons of our lives take us. My Honda went everywhere. Mountains, ocean, foothills, prairie--she even crossed into the United States more than once. To be fair, I owned Aubergine twice as long as I've currently owned Tom. That being said, thus far, Tom has only had a taste of the mountains and foothills, he's never been to the ocean, nor has he crossed any international borders.

But the prairie.

Well.

Tom is a prairie expert.

The view at 100,000km.

Under the ever-wide sky, we have explored the green and yellow patchwork of summer fields, as well as the white blankets of winter. We have stopped to take in unexpected delights, and we never hesitate to pull over for a good sunset. In the dark of winter, thousands of songs, a hundred podcasts, and several audio books have helped to pass the time.

All so that I can access the pieces of my heart that I have scattered abroad.

Tom's knees are starting to creak, his face is pock-marked by gravel and dust, and his interior is in desperate need of a bath. ...I've put him through a lot in four years.

At 25,000km per year, I am hoping he and I can enjoy at least another four together, and I am curious to see which directions our ambitions take us.

There is so much yet to explore.


* But if you need to find a pothole, a nail, or a piece of wayward rebar, I'm your gal.

SOTC 247/365

Out to the Very Edge

I come down the shadowed trail
and into the clearing.
The sky and my lungs open in tandem.

The view is breathtaking even from the trail--
still, it beckons me forward.

You want the best I have to offer?
Come out to the very edge.

It is a thin space between the edge
and the place where gravity reminds you
how unforgiving it is.

The edge deserves my respect;
requires confidence with care.

Calculated steps.

My heart beats a touch faster.
I move from standing to crouching,
tightening my centre of gravity,
hands and feet now moving
together
over the rough stone

Equal parts terrifying and exhilarating

Towards the precipice
where
I gingerly sit myself down,
bring my legs out in front of me--

And I am above the traffic,
above the river;
above even most birds
busy breakfasting in the trees.

(c) Photos by Gina

Come out to the very edge;
see the best I have to offer;

The wind swirls around me
but
my heartbeat settles

I remember that
I accepted the invitation into this moment
and this space

And it is from here that
I can take in the clarity of the landscape before me
and the bright light
of a new day