How I survived myself

 My last post was about the struggle of adjusting to a more stationary way of life. I figured I should probably write an update to assure those of you who read this blog that I am surviving and also that I am so grateful for your words of support and love.

 Last night a number of my friends and family gathered to celebrate my birthday a few days early. Birthdays are a big deal in my family. My mom likes hers to last for weeks. My sister advertises hers for months prior. I wish I could avoid mine all together.  I know Im not alone in this sentiment either. Our culture puts a lot of pressure on Birthdays. Hallmark has declared it a day where all your wishes and dreams come true. There is supposed to be cake and presents and everyone you love is supposed to be there. But life doesnt just take a breather because its your birthday and sometimes its not “THE BEST DAY EVER!”   Life just kept happening the year I turned nine. My grandfather suffered a heart attack the day before and passed away the day after. While I cant recall the events in great detail, my emotional memories exist quite clearly. Thinking on it now I can recall my nine year old anger, dissapointment, grief, and sense of total abandonment. It seems so selfish now, but my nine year old self was mad. My mom always planned my parties. That year my mom had to fly to her father. I didnt understand. When he died…I dont think I’ve ever stopped beating myself up.  Growing up I don’t think I ever found it easy to celebrate June 19th after that. It was no longer the day of my birth. It was the day my grandfather lay dieing in a hospital bed while I was miles away having a party and opening presents. Every year since I have consistently been a wreck around the day. I have waited with anxiety for the annual birthday tragedy. I would love to say that nothing tragic or bad ever happened on my birthday again, but the truth is things have. The truth also is, that none of the events have been under my control. I put a lot of pressure on my birthday. I dont think I really understood it until last night.

  This year more than most I hadnt been looking forward to my party. So many of my friends are away, I havent felt like partying, it looked like rain. As my friends and family laughed and chatted, I felt on edge. Waiting for the moment when everything would collapse. We were sitting in the living room and my friend’s phone rang. She picked it up and within seconds her face dropped. Sitting across from her I could feel my throat close, my breath stop, my eyes well up with tears. My default thought-someone died and its all my fault. It turned out that her boyfriend was being charged on an outstanding warrant for some minor event in his past. Enough to cause my friend a great deal of fear and stress. As she got up to leave I should have been there for her. Instead, I quickly reverted to my nine year old self. My almost 22 year old self promptly went to the bathroom and attempted to talk some sense into the child, but she just could not be reasoned with. She was too flooded with 13 years of caged up birthday anger, birthday unworthiness, birthday sadness, and birthday guilt. When you celebrate me people are going to get hurt. I am going to get hurt.

  We seek to prove our deepest fears true. It doesnt make sense, but it’s the truth. I have been doing it for 13 years now. Its about time I make some peace. June 19th is a day in a year of 365. It happens to be a day to which there are some painful memories attatched. It also happens to be a day where over the years I have been surrounded by people who I love and who love me right back. It’s time I let go of the hurts, and make the choice to hold onto the joys. I can celebrate me any day, but it just so happens that this particular day gives everyone else the chance to also. I love celebrating other people’s birthdays-why should my own be any different?

  This year I am going to be coaching choices on the 19th. I will be in a room from dawn until after dusk. My day will be about healing and about love. There wont be a cake, or presents, or a drunken rendition of Happy Birthday. Its going to be a quiet celebration. A party in my heart.

    I tried on all my jeans when I got back. No matter how much I suck, and pull, and squeeze, they don’t fit. Nothing fits.

  I am just a tourist. Standing in a foreign land called home. I don’t recognize the faces. I don’t recognize the places. I don’t recognize my life anymore.

  Its 9 o’clock on a Monday. Tears are making it hard to see the screen in front of me. This grief is making it hard to type. It seems quite plausible that I left everything I was on a beach somewhere, and now there’s just a shell sitting here in front of a computer screen, with puffy eyes and a feeling of total emptiness.

  5 days ago I was alone in Bangkok. It was chaos and colour and music and noise. I was by myself, but with myself. I was happy and I was at peace.

  Today I am alone in a house that is supposedly mine. I live here. My picture’s on the wall. So why do I feel like I’m trespassing? Why do I feel like my room belongs to someone else? Why do I feel like I don’t know this person that’s been gone?

  I don’t know what I was expecting. That I would return home and pick up right where I left off? That I wouldn’t feel like I was barging in on the lives that they’ve been building while I was gone? That just because I’m at home I’d be at home?

  They say travelling is a life changing experience. They say it’s hard. The hard part wasn’t the travelling- It’s the return.

  My clothes are the same size they’ve always been. It’s me who has changed. It’s me who doesn’t quite fit.

  I spoke with a friend this morning who returned 2 months ago from a lengthy stint in New Zealand and India. Apparently I’m not crazy. She confessed that when she got back she cried for no apparent reason for 2 weeks straight.

  So today I will forgive myself for my tears. I will accept the fact that nothing and nobody is perfect. And I will take a breath, take Ellie for a run, and I will survive myself.

I arrived in Bangkok this morning just as the sun was waking from its dreams. The midnight train rolled into the station at 5:30am. I had been wakened much earlier and forced out of my peaceful sleep by some overly zealous train employees eager to strip the beds. I am on my own now. Yesterday we said a tearful goodbye before I hopped on the boat and watched my friends and our island paradise dissapear all too quickly into the distance. After sharing a cab with a girl from a tour group that I met on the train, and a failed attempt at a nap, I hit the strrets to do some damage to my wallet. And damage did I do! Who would have thought it possible to spend 83 dollars canadian on scarves in Thailand. In ten minutes. Without Victoria here to curb my spending I have become the Imelda Marcos of scarves. A title only rivalled by every other woman in my family.  I returned to my little prison cell cum hotel room later in the day to rid myself of my new goodies. (Most of which are actually not for me-which makes me feel much less indulgent, thank god.)  Now my cell is far less drab as it looks as if Bangkok puked its multi-coloured guts out all over it! Ive called the shopping quits for today as I cant bear to part with another precious baht. I dont know why Im blabbering on like this. Its probably a combination of the sugar in my coconut shake, boredom and nervous excitment over the fact that in 36 hours I am on my way HOME!

 An exciting, but all together frightening thought. This is the last entry I am making on this journey. Im sad, and slightly dissapointed. I had hoped by now life would have made itself clear. That by some miraculous chance, the heavens would have aligned and said “Alexis, This is your destiny; You are meant to….blah, blah, blah.” And the gods would have kindly spelt it all out for me. Actually, come to think of it, a man in a turban handed me a card and offered to read my fortune today. So perhaps they did align and I just failed to listen. Well, merde!

 When it all comes down to it though, knowing exactly where Im going to end up isnt all that appealing. Right now, Im learning to shake my soul, release my hold, give up control, and let the rest unfold. It goes completely against my nature, but rocking it like a gypsy makes my heart smile a little bit. A lot, actually.

 I have this fear that when I get off the plane everyone is going to be really dissapointed that I dont have dreadlocks and I’m not all zen and fit and wearing fisherman pants and that I still dont have it all together.

 Sure I’ve let go of somethings I’ve been holding on to, Ive been working on faith and trust, I even bought some shirts that arent earth tones today. But the truth is, I think Im still just me. Only fatter. (This is too warn you Liseanne, that if you make a single comment about me running every day I will keep all the gifts I bought you to myself. Because no, I did not run in thailand. I was much to busy doing nothing. Unfortunately for the overworked stretch in my jeans, nothing meant eating pancakes fried in oil and drizzled with chocolate.)

 The truth is that somewhere inside me, so near the surface that I can almost reach in and touch it, I do know what Im really hungry for-and it isnt just pancakes. I read The Alchemist on this trip. In it Paolo Coehlo writes something to the effect of “its frightning to have dreams. To want something. Once you say it out loud, even just to your own heart-you are no longer off the hook.” I have been letting myself off the hook for a long time. Its kinda my thing. But I can feel the debris shifting around in here. Making way for the kind of courage it takes to speak up. To let go. To claim a voice. To strip away the ego, the need to please. To strip away every layer until I reach the core. Until I believe that I am truly supported by the universe. Until I can let my vulnerability be my strength.

My airplane ticket reads; Destination: Home. But stepping off the plane will not be the end of my journey. The truth is, its just the beginning.