Trust...

There is a reason I don’t give it out freely or easily. While I believe people are generally good, I also believe most people are in it for themselves and will do what they can to get ahead, even if it means throwing you under the bus. This isn’t me complaining or whining about the unfairness of life… this is me being honest about how life is. Sometimes I make a mistake in who I trust, and once I realize I’ve fucked up, you won’t get another chance. And don’t get me wrong, I can be a shitty friend too. This isn’t me saying I’m perfect and other people aren’t. This is me saying humans are flawed, and we are so very rarely altruistic in our actions. You can’t be an amazing presence in everyone’s life, you just can’t be. You save your amazingness for a select few.

To find someone who is there for you no matter what is better than finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow… it’s better than sex because it lasts forever, and it’s better than the tightest and deepest hug in the world. It makes you feel okay with yourself because someone sees you for you, all of you, and still accepts you. They hold your secrets close to their heart, and they would never sell you out. It is the most comforting feeling in the world, and part of why trust is so amazing is because it is so damn rare.

I pride myself on being able to very quickly know if I want someone in my life. Within seconds of being around you, I can sense your energy and whether or not you’re someone that attracts me. What I do need to learn are boundaries. I tell too much, too soon, and just because I gravitate towards someone and feel a connection, it doesn’t mean I need to bare my soul. Sometimes it’s okay to just like someone as a pal, and not rely on them for anything more than a light-hearted conversation or a lunch date. It doesn’t always need to be a deep, soul-connecting friendship. And that’s hard for me to accept, because to me if it’s not a deep and profound connection, it’s fluff and superficial. And why waste your time and energy on someone that doesn’t feed your soul? Well, because Beth, sometimes life can’t be everything you want it to be, and you have to be okay with that. You have to be okay with knowing you can’t trust someone, but still, be able to like them.

I will hold you close to my heart if you can teach me something about myself in a gentle way. My favourite people are those who teach me things without even realizing they are doing it. They don’t look down on me or tell me that this is how I should behave or I should stop doing this or that… they guide me through mutual friendship and understanding. True friendship is give and take, and the friendships I value most are the ones that make me yearn for personal growth.

I’ve learned that it’s okay to be fucked over by people because the people who won’t do that bullshit to you are ten times better than the people who will. Focus your energy on the good ones.

Are we all faking it?

The other day Chris and I met with our wedding DJ: when he asked what I do for a living and I told him I’m a technical writer, his response was, “Wow, you’re very smart.” I laughed it off and said I’m not, and then he said in all seriousness, “No, really.” I mumbled “thanks” and changed the subject.

The truth is that I have no idea what I am doing. I do my job and hope to God my coworkers can’t see the fuck ups. I’m a perfectionist but satisfied with very little, professionally or personally. And I don’t think I’m alone in this. I asked my sister a few months ago, “When did you finally figure it out?” and she told me she still hasn’t. She is intelligent, put together, has an MBA, and is incredibly successful, but she still questions herself. I find this comforting. I look at those around me who appear confident and wonder if they feel like frauds too.

There are so few people I feel comfortable going to when I need support. Being vulnerable is scary as hell, because what if the person I’m seeking help from decides I’m not worth the time or energy? What if they are laughing at me behind my back? People are generally good, I truly believe that but it’s difficult to admit you need a shoulder to lean on, or guidance, or someone to pick you up because you aren’t quite strong enough to do it yourself.

I appreciate the compliments even though I may brush them off. I appreciate when other people tell me they’re bullshitting their way through life too. And I appreciate the amazing people in my life who make me feel worthy when I most need it. I hope I'm as good of a friend to you as you are to me.

Never Forget Jimmy Shelstad

I was just thinking about Jimmy, a close friend of mine. 

The summer before grade 12, my friend Jimmy was walking home from a party when a drunk driver hit and killed him. His body landed 40 feet from where he was hit. He died instantly.

I went online on an early Saturday morning. It was July 31, 2004, and a friend messaged me, telling me that "Jimmy died last night." I refused to believe it. I thought it was a cruel, mean-spirited, totally not funny joke. I called Jimmy's house, and when his mom answered the phone, I said, "Hi, is Jimmy there?"

All I could hear for what felt like forever was breathing on the other end of the line, and then she said with the deepest sadness I've ever heard, "Oh, sweetie, he was hit by a car last night."

I paused and then replied: "Is he okay?"

She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and said, "No. Beth, I'm so sorry... he didn't make it."

That afternoon, my then-boyfriend, two friends, and I drove to Jimmy's house to offer support to his family. Jimmy's mom and dad invited us in. We sat around the kitchen table, in shock. We didn't say much. We shared a few memories and laughs, but mostly we cried. 

I would never hear his voice again. I would never again hear his infectious laugh, hug him, skip school with him, or share our deepest thoughts and secrets. Jimmy was gone, and I couldn't understand why. He would never graduate high school, become an adult, or have a wife and children. Jimmy's mom and dad lost a son, and Jimmy's younger brother was now an only child. It was so unfair. 

In the coming months, I combed through the newspaper each day: I cut out every article about Jimmy, slipped it into a plastic sleeve, and put it in a binder. I would read the articles over and over, pouring over the words and telling myself I would never forget and never let him go.

A week or so after Jimmy died, 100+ people showed up at what came to be known as "Jimmy's Corner", the intersection where he was killed. We hugged, laughed, cried, and when the clock struck the time that he died, each of us lit a candle and walked him the rest of the way home. 

My life has moved on, while Jimmy will only ever be the memory of a 17-year-old boy. 

What are you grateful for today?

Yesterday my mom and I were in her car; she was driving us to an appointment I made with the florist for my and Chris’s wedding. Chris wasn’t with us, because flowers.

Mom glanced at me. “I’ve been thinking… do you remember I mentioned a few years ago about writing down three things you’re grateful for every day?”

I said yes, that I did remember.

She said, “Well, I’ve decided I’m going to do it. Will you do it with me?”

I said that I absolutely would. Why not, right? A little gratefulness is always welcome.

She said, “Great because I already bought each of us a notebook! I got mauve and green; which colour do you want?”

What brought this on is that my mom is retiring (for the second time) today. The first time was three or four years ago, when she retired from her 30-something-year career, thinking she was ready to slow down the pace of her life, travel more, and pick up new hobbies. It was a good thing she retired when she did, because not even one month later, my dad got into a very serious ski accident that resulted in a lot of broken bones, surgery, and months of physiotherapy. Had my mom still been working, no one would have been around to help him move around the house those first few weeks post-accident.

But eventually, he made a full recovery (and went skiing the very next winter!), and my mom, who has always been used to doing something, or taking care of something, suddenly had nothing to do or take care of. I mean really, a person can only make so many quilts or go out for coffee with friends so many times before going a little nuts. Within a few weeks, she had found another job.

Me and Mumsy

My mom loves working. It is a core piece of who she is. I, on the other hand, not so much. I do something I enjoy, and I’m happy with where I’m at… but when I think of who I am or someone says, “Tell me about yourself”… my job is not at all how I identify with or describe myself. My mom is totally the opposite. She likes being busy, having a schedule, being respected, accomplishing tasks, feeling important, and just the whole idea of what working means. She is a classic workaholic, and for as long as I’ve been alive, she has described herself in a way that directly ties into her job.

She told me last night that she anticipates a depression in the future. Not tomorrow, but eventually, because for so long she has identified herself by her job… and that’s not going to be there for her anymore. So… it’s not surprising at all that she wants to start recording the daily things she is grateful for.

She wants to get into the habit of appreciating everything in her life that isn’t work-related, so that when the depression comes, she has already begun to be grateful for things other than work. You train your brain to think positively. If you know you’re going to need to come up with three unique things each day that you are grateful for, your eyes and your heart will be open, all day, to each and every experience, wondering if that one thing will make today’s grateful list. It stands to reason, then, that you’ll generally be a happier, more positive person, because you are now conscious and aware of all the mundane yet wonderfully exciting things that you overlooked before.

Dogs

My dogs, Charlie & Chance, give me companionship, assistance, loyalty, and love. Knowing that they will be waiting for me when I come home, tails wagging and bundles of excitement is what I most look forward to in my day-to-day life. 

Annual shopping trip with Mama Bear

One of the buys from today

For the last eight years, my mom has taken me shopping for new clothes as a birthday gift. It works out perfectly. My birthday is the first week of January, so we shop a few days after Christmas when sales are INSANE. She always tells me a dollar amount limit before the day starts, so I know how to budget throughout the day. It's a super fun challenge. We come up with a list of stores and are on our way.

This afternoon, she was to pick me up at 11:00am. I texted her at 10:00am and asked that she get here closer to noon (I love my sleep). I went back to dreamland. The next thing I know, the doorbell is ringing, the dogs are barking, and my alarm clock reads 11:57. FUCK.

I open the door at 11:58. "I slept in."

My mom is on the phone with her best friend and mouths, "No problem."

I shower, dry my hair, and get dressed in 30 minutes, and we are on our way.

We shopped for four hours, going to six stores. I asked her each time she swiped her Visa, "What's the total now?"

She laughed hysterically at me throughout the day. I have proportionately huge boobs, so shirts often fit me in a really odd way. She'd laugh, wipe her tears, and say, "Please, oh please, don't get that one!" If anyone else laughed at me like she did, I would feel judged, and my self-esteem would plummet. But Mumsy is different. We had a blast today.

I ended up being $5 over budget.

I love my mom so much. More than I could ever put into words.

The Cat

I'm seventeen.

It's a scorching afternoon in the middle of summer, with no breeze at all, and the freshly cut grass is tickling my bare legs. Sitting cross-legged in the front yard, watching my dad garden, I feel happy. He is weeding and asks me what flowers he should plant this year. I don’t know anything about gardening, and he knows it, so I roll my eyes. As I stretch out my legs, close my eyes, and lie back, I hear the snap of weeds breaking off the earth.

Something soft brushes against my leg. My eyes flutter open, and a long-haired, one-eyed cat is looking at me expectantly. It is mostly grey with white clumps of fur matted around its paws and neck.

“Hello, kitty.”

I spend the next few minutes giving the cat love—it walks across my lap and rubs against my legs—until my friend arrives, and I have to go.

...

Over the next few weeks, the cat finds me. Whether I am in the front yard, the backyard, or the garage, the cat is there. 

It's pouring rain today, and the poor cat is drenched. Why is this cat not at home? I will look after it until the rain dies down. I put the cat in the garage, walk out, close the door behind me, and go into the house. As I pull out a can of tuna from the pantry, my dad asks what I'm doing. I tell him I'll be with the cat. I don’t know when the rain will stop, so I grab a book, too, in case I am here for the long haul.

Together, the cat and I spend the next ten hours in the garage. Cat and I snuggle in a blanket; it purrs, I read. I feed the cat tuna and water. When the downpour finally stops, I go into the house but leave the garage door open, letting the cat linger until it is ready to go home.

...

The next day, when I get home from school, I walk in the back door. I’m not sure who is home. “Hello!” I yell.

My dad yells back, "Come see me for a minute!" I kick off my flip-flops, walk into the living room, and see he has the cat on his lap. My mind spins. Why is the cat inside? My parents have never allowed a furry animal inside our home. I have grown up with fish, turtles, tortoises, and lizards.

“Go look under the tortoise tank in the kitchen," Dad says.

I run to the kitchen. There, under the tank, are two small bowls. One is full to the brim with water, and the other contains hard cat food.

I run back to the living room. “Why do we have cat dishes?” I ask, dumbfounded.

Bootsy

“I asked around the neighbourhood, and it turns out this cat has no home. The owners left him when they moved. His name is Boots, and he is yours.”