Missing Pieces

I’m sitting in Coffee Cultures in Kitchener, Ontario, savouring my first bite of this Caramel Carrot Cheesecake. Oh, I should take a picture of this. I should text Hubby about this. I should update my status on Facebook with this. But really, who cares?

And the thought occurs to me that no one in the world knows where I am right now. And I could step outside as I’m crossing the road, get hit by a car and die here. And no one would go looking for me as I’m here alone in Ontario. No one is expecting me home tonight. No one knows where I went when I rented a car this afternoon to tool around the area.

And it’s not that it’s important to check in wherever I go, but that it’s rare for me not to. When you’re a wife and a mother and a full-time employee, you tend to let people know where you are. This past week on a “business trip”, when that hasn’t been necessary, it’s felt freeing. But then after a couple of days of freedom, it starts to feel just a little less meaningful.

It’s not that I can’t be alone. I love being alone. People rarely believe me when I say I’m an introvert. True, I need people and energy around me in my life, but I get drained easily after socializing. As a mother, where demands for attention are endless, I crave solitude. And once found, I pull my laptop to me, write and write until I’m renewed, or if extremely indulgent, I’ll curl up with a pot of tea and a book. When I have hours to kill (another rarity) I’ll go out to a café and relish a treat, browse a used bookstore, or meander through a market.

I’ve done all these things now. Devoured two novels and a chick flick after busy and very full days of work. But instead of feeling spoiled, I feel a little empty. Cause there’s no one to share this with. There’s no one to discuss and debrief the days’ events with. No one to laugh at a tv show with. No one to reach across the table with a forkful of cake and see what they think. No one to cook a meal for or give a bath to or tuck into bed.

Last year I got the chance to spend a week in PEI – my first real time away from my husband and son. I left a stressed-out mess and returned renewed. I hoped that would happen again this time, but the need for renewal was not so strong. This trip, I’ve gained an appreciation. Of course I appreciate my dear boys, but to appreciate the role they play in my life and the role I play in theirs. To appreciate the interconnectedness we share that is an entity in and of itself.

I used to say that I write my journals in order to prove that I exist. For years I wrote and wrote without a soul reading a word. Then I began blogging and getting published and opened up the world of sharing my thoughts and my words with others and I can never go back. Because a relationship forms with readers that goes beyond the words.

And when you are in relationships as intense as marriage and parenthood, and used to sharing your life, you really can’t go back. I glimpse the idea of what it must be like to lose a partner or a child, and I shudder. It’s not only loss of the other, but of that part of you that was connected to them. You must have to rebuild your life, your identity, your idea of wholeness.

Despite feeling extremely whole in myself these days, I clearly feel the calling of my two beloveds - the call for mommy, the call for wife, the call for me to be more than me. And it is not about me satisfying them with my presence. It’s about me satisfying my own need to be needed.

Last year after my trip away, I wrote these words (that are now published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: O Canada!), and they still ring true:

“I had to travel across the country to find myself, only to discover that I needed to return home to be whole again.”

Out of My Comfort Zone

Okay, here I am in the departure lounge of the airport – on my own. It occurs to me that this is the first trip I’ve really ever taken completely on my own. Sure, I’ve flown by myself and been to conferences, but I always meet up with someone or share a room with a colleague. The most I’ve travelled on my own is the couple of days I sometimes add after a work trip for sightseeing and self-renewal. (See Flying Solo). But they’re always cushioned by the familiarity of people and places I’ve had time to get comfortable with before going solo.

But now it’s just me for a week in Waterloo to visit students working at Research in Motion (who make the Blackberry) and one of my university’s largest co-op employers.

I barely could check in by myself. Begged Hubby to drag my luggage and our son into the airport and completely allowed the Westjet guy to do my entire “self-check”. It’s not that I’m not capable, but I seem to have developed this learned helplessness since my partner is such a solid, smart, supporter. That, and I have a tiny bit of princess in me. (Though said partner might dispute the “tiny” part.)

And that’s why I need to do stuff like this. It’s why I put my hand up when they asked who wanted to do this term’s “site visit” to Ontario. I was surprised when no one else had their hand up but me, and now that I’ve organized the 54 meetings and one pub social that need to take place in the span of 4 days, I have a slight clue as to why. But still, while I have to leave my family to represent my university, I’m also aware of what a great opportunity this is to challenge myself.

I so want to be a traveller. On paper, I’ve travelled the world – my family lived in Mexico when I was 4, my parents took me through western Europe twice, and my dad lived in Taiwan for two years so I got to visit there. I’ve enjoyed $5 steak dinners in Venezuela and had a fancy dinner at the top of the Eiffel tower. I love travelling and dream of hitting Greece and the Philippines in the not too distant future.

But the fact is, I like my creature comforts and I don’t do the whole adapting to new situations so well. Embarking on any kind of travel means channeling my type A-ness into spreadsheets with organized itineraries based on copious amounts of research. The whole immersing into local cultures sounds good on the surface but causes me a great deal of anxiety. So, instead I opt for all-inclusive resorts in Mexico where they ferry you to the hotel in a giant air conditioned bus so you can whiz by the third world reality of it all. Or cruise ships which create a reality that is so indulgent it’s not funny. It’s not real travelling, but I’m not complaining.

And travelling on my own to the very safe residential neighbourhood in Waterloo is not real travelling either. But it gives me a chance to flex my muscles, to take some baby steps along the road towards flying further afield one day.

Co-op site visits give me the chance to exercise my ability to adapt to new situations. They are the most exciting and most terrifying part of my job. Exciting because I get to meet a student immersed in an important growth experience for them – personally and professionally and hear all about what they are learning. Exciting because I get to walk into an organization – be it a small business, non-profit, federal government, or large corporate, like I will tomorrow – and get a sense of what they do, what industries they play in, and what needs they meet. Exciting to meet the employers and find out about their backgrounds and how they are mentoring their student.

Terrifying because I never know exactly what I’m walking into. Terrifying because I have no idea whether said student and employer are having a happy marriage. Terrifying because I have about 20 minutes with them each to absorb everything going on, assess the situation, and offer guidance, all while filling in forms and explaining program requirements. And that’s of course after navigating myself through traffic and parking to get to the building, and packing several of these visits into each day.

But over all, it’s more exhilarating that not. I try and remind myself that I’m not there to fix anything. I imagine I’m a facilitator for them to hear the words they need to hear to make the best out of their work opportunity. After a day of site visits, I’m often exhausted, but always more assured that I’m in the right job. I get to bear witness to students experiencing amazing opportunities, while rising to my own challenges. I always wonder who learns more from whom during our interactions.

Now, I hear Westjet calling out my flight number. I better figure out what gate that’s coming from. My husband usually deals with that kind of thing.

I Think I Finally Like Hallowe'en

November 1st - 8am.

Lucas is yelling at me to turn up the volume on the TV. Hubby is lying on the couch after an evening with Captain Morgan. And I'm channelling all my limited energy to fight the red wine haze in order to put together a much needed cup of strong black tea.

In other words, we had a really good Hallowe'en.

I've never really been into Hallowe'en. As a kid, it always felt more like an obligation. While other kids put together intricate costumes, I donned an off-the-rack plastic Smurfette mask, and was no less happy about it. As the only kid in the family, it would be my dad driving me house to house as I ran up the long driveways in the pitch black dark and rain to fetch my treats, or alternatively, it was my brother (eight years older), begrudgingly taking me while dressed in army fatigues garnishing a shot gun which he used to scare off any other kids. And as a teen and young adult, I was just happy not to participate but pickup the 1/2 price Reece cups on November 1st.

But things change when you become a parent and the social obligation to participate in Hallowe'en is non-negotiable. So this year, we fully invested.

There was pumpking patching, and the picking out of gourds from the very field then daintily carrying them to the car (suburban folk that we are and not so keen on dirtying any hands). And then the carving of the jack `o lantern, where Hubby and boy scooped out guts while Mommy googled how to roast pumpkin seeds to meet our boy's demand (even though he pronounced not as good as the ones from daycare). Then there were cookies to make - bats and pumpkins and ghosts - and a cookie station to man at Lucas' friends amazing Hallowe'en party. And dragging Grandma along for the cookie ride to make it fun rather than causing my usual level of stress.

When Hallowe'en morning arrived, I was giddy as a kid on Christmas, thrilled to don my pirate costume and head to work. Hubby caught the fever and scared us half to death walking into the kitchen in full Star Wars clone trooper uniform. And Lucas - a cow of course.

A few hours later, the cow was running hand in hand with his BFF, the pink princess from house to house while Hubby adopted the princess' brother - another clone trooper. We couldn't stop the kids from tearing across the complex and up the stairs, so much excitement in the air. Then came the thrill of examining their stashes dumped out in three piles on the black shag carpet, while Moms poked through the candy for safety and taste-testing purposes.

Once candy-high, the kids submerged downstairs and the grown up party began. Princess & clone trooper's mom outdid herself again with Hallowe'en themed  appies. Laughter and liquids flowed as neighbours arrived, and stories are shared, and innuendos are giggled over.

And we stayed too late. And we drank too much. And it was a school night after all. But for a few hours, when we were supposed to be on a diet, we let go. For a few hours, we put aside our work-stress, ditched the seriousness, and let loose.

Because we were with friends who are as close as family, and who don't judge us for our inconsistencies, or laugh when my thigh high pirate leggings fall down, or feel weird when Hubby starts doling out shoulder massages. They create this magical place for us, where we can, for an evening, be a pirate and a clone trooper, and leave the rest of the world and its worries behind.

I think I finally like Hallowe'en.