Journey To The Center of My Mind

There are times I set about writing a new post in this blog, only to realize that I have no idea where to start. This is one of those times. I usually start with a title, and decide where it will take me. Up until now, it has served me well as a platform to dive off of. I do find the title "Journey To The Center of My Mind" quite catchy, but I can hardly take the credit for creating it. It was a song title of a modest chart hit from the 1960's (though I can't come up with the tune in my head, nor am I inclined to look up who released it). The title came to me from nowhere, as these things often do. It seemed to fit into my state of mind today, so I decided to run with it. The only problem is that I am running in circles. I had initially wanted to write about a camping trip / sojourn across the Mongolian landscape that I made with a good friend back in 1997. I think I will abandon that for the time being, though. I will more than likely explore that avenue in another post.
 As I mentioned, the title I came up seems to fit into my frame of mind at this time. It reflects my ongoing desire to explore my past and reconcile it with my present. I often think back to my youth, and in the caverns and catacombs of my memories I try to remember what the interior of my childhood home looked like, or the halls of my elementary school. I also conjure up images of a young boy riding his bike down streets and through fields, on a quest to see what was beyond the comfort zone of my street and neighborhood. I realize I have a romanticized version of childhood, but the town I grew up in and the era in which I grew up was pretty ideal. 
I have fond memories of Summer evenings after dinner, playing hide and seek with my brother and the kids on my street. Our parents never worried too much about where we were, because there were far fewer boogeymen to worry about back then. It would only be when it was bath time or bed time when we would be summoned home by our yelling mothers and fathers from our respective front doors. Having grown up in a somewhat large town in Quebec, I was privileged to associate with both English and French kids. We played together, went to school together, and lived harmoniously side by side. 
Unfortunately, as the years progressed, politics ruined all of that. Most of those families, particularly the English ones that I knew so well are long gone - as am I. Truth be told, I haven't gone back there in years, even decades (even though my father still lives about half an hour away). I actually pass by the town on the way to visit him (on the rare occasion that I do), but for some reason I keep driving rather than cutting through to see the old neighborhoods. Actually the reason is that every time I take that side highway by my hometown, there is a voice that rings in my head telling me "You can never really go back". Perhaps my rationale is that I don't want to ruin that ideal version of my youth that I have cultivated over the years. Maybe driving by the old house would trigger other memories that I have buried. 
There definitely were unhappy ones, such as my parents gathering my siblings and I down in our playroom to inform us of their plans to divorce. At eight years old, I really didn't grasp all the implications of it. My sister was only five, and my brother at the age of ten was thrust (unfairly) into the role of the man of the house. There was great confusion in my young brain, as to what it all meant. It had finally sunk in when my father packed up and moved out of our family home to live across town with another woman. My mother was obviously devastated and humiliated, as back in those days, divorce was akin to a scandal. She was vengeful toward my father, though in an extremely passive aggressive sort of way. One might even say that she would go as far as to manipulate situations in order to make my father's new life hell. Actually, I will go on record and say that is exactly what happened. I heard about these things, witnessing and hearing several heated arguments between my father and his second wife, who was the least subtle person I have ever known (especially when drinking). 
I wonder what it would be like, to be able to snap my fingers like Uncle Arthur from "Bewitched", and be able to go back and  view such episodes under some sort of cloak of invisibility. I wouldn't necessarily want to focus too much on the negative moments. I would like to see that young boy riding through the summer breeze on that 3 speed bike. I would like to see the look of euphoria on his face, as he feels the freedom, yet the inherent danger of exploring parts unknown and far from home. I would like to know if that memory of standing out in front of the house on Christmas Eve (probably around the age of three), watching the snow fall gently under the streetlight was true. If so, was it as profound as I believe it to be now? On the negative side, I would also want to witness bits and pieces of the young boy's perspective of his parents' divorce, so I might better grasp what makes him tick as an adult. 
From all accounts I was a really polite boy, eager to please the adults around me. Perhaps digging deeper into it, I think it was because I was aware of my mother's fragile state of mind. I didn't want to add to her pain, having seen her break down a few times. I was also scared that my father would abandon me even further, to the point of disappearing from my life altogether. 
To cap this off, I understand that I am not a psychologist, nor am I seeking therapy of the professional kind. I am constantly trying to understand myself, though. I am aware as I get older that there is a need to rid myself of certain baggage, in order to be a better father and a better husband. This is truly what I want, and what really drives me these days. This is as I said earlier, my catharsis and means to bridge past and present together.    

One Last One

I have to make one final post today. That is to wish my boy a wonderful, Happy Birthday coming up on Sunday. He is turning two years old. Today he is having a surprise birthday cake at his daycare, and his mom will be showing up early to take part. He is starting to grasp the concept about his special day, and has seen other toddlers getting cakes over the past several months. As such, he gets quite excited over people singing "Happy birthday to you....". No telling how he will react to being the center of attention, however he is quite accustomed to that at home. 

Anyhow, mommy and daddy are taking him to the zoo tomorrow as part of his birthday weekend, and he is getting a special cake at home, adorned with Woody and Buzz icing and decorations. I'm pretty sure if he hasn't fully grasped the concept yet, he will certainly be primed for his birthday by next year. 

Still hard to imagine that two years have passed since we welcomed him into the world. As much as I am enjoying watching him grow and develop, I know there will be one day soon when it seems like it all passed by so fast. I will no doubt be proud of the young man he grows up to be, but I will surely miss that little boy who likes being enveloped in daddy's arms. I will miss the little boy who comes running full speed to the front door for a hug, yelling "Daddy daddy!!!" when I come home from work. I will miss the little boy who manages to find moles and scars or blemishes on my arms, calling them "boo boo's" as he picks at them. I will surely miss our short car trips in the mornings to daycare, where he laughs at daddy's corny jokes or cartoon voices. 

As he grows into a young boy and then into a young man, we will find new ways to relate to each other. There will without doubt be tests to our relationship along the way. I just hope he grows up knowing how much his dad loves him, and that he will always have his back. To wrap this up, I wish my boy a very happy 2nd birthday. May you always be happy and successful, however you choose to define it. May you always feel secure in the knowledge that your parents love you and support you. 

Love,

Daddy

The Office Finale

Normally I don't write reviews of television shows or movies, but for sentimental reasons several themes touched upon from last night's "The Office" finale struck some chords. Probably as with most fans, "The Office" drew me in early on, but I slowly lost interest after Steve Carell left for greener pastures. Still, I tuned in semi-regularly when they brought in James Spader as Robert California. I had high hopes for his character, as he had great potential as a foil. His interview with Jim and Toby remains one of my favorite moments. 
Unfortunately, Spader's character did not evolve the way I had hoped. From that point forward, it became a bit of a strain to tune in week after week. A couple of new characters came into the mix, such as Gabe. I thought he had some great moments, particularly in the love triangle between he, Erin and Andy. He had become creepily obsessive over her, and the actor (name eludes me) played it so well. There were some good dynamics happening with the second-tier starring players as well. 
Namely, Dwight Schrute's character arc had evolved considerably. At first he was the over-zealous ass kisser to the Regional Manager (Michael Scott). He would stop at nothing to please his boss. He always ended up looking like a bumbling fool. When it became obvious that Michael never intended to have him promoted, Dwight became much more devious and cynical. 
Dwight had always considered Jim Halpert his arch nemesis, however they grew to respect one another through their elaborate series of pranks. It was nice to see that they grew to the point of considering one another true friends by the end. It was even at Jim's behest to the corporate head that Dwight be installed as the new Regional Manager at the end. That and being his "Bestest Mensch" was a really nice touch. Dwight's final words about his "subordinates", and whether or not he considered them friends, was incredibly touching. Especially when he referred to Pam Beasley-Halpert as his best friend.
At any rate, there were some very poignant moments in the finale, and it made sticking through the show's decline in quality really worthwhile. Michael's appearance at the wedding, while not exactly a big surprise, was done so well. For several years he played such a polarizing, socially awkward figure. He emerged after years away a changed man, much more at peace with himself. He had married his true love Holly, and they went on to have two kids together. Michael spoke very little, but what few words he did say, were perfectly executed. One last "That's what she said" had me laughing out loud. He appeared very much as the proud father of this weird, dysfunctional family. 
My final thoughts go to the very ending of the episode, when Jim and Pam each had their final interviews with the camera. Jim saying how incredible it is, having the most wondrous moments of his life documented on camera. From the moment he met his wife, to falling in love with her, to marrying her and then having a family with her. It is all there on tape. How many people wish they could have that? What started off as a documentary about working in a somewhat boring job, became all of this. Pam then saying how easy it is to fall into traps of putting things off and not realizing what they have in front of them. It took her four years, and almost marrying the wrong man to finally realize the man she truly loved was working four feet away from her the whole time. It was a beautiful touch having Creed playing and singing that stirring melody as well. 
Finally, perhaps the most sage words came from the one and only Andy Bernard. He started off the episode as pathetic as he had become over the past several years. He had reached his zenith of humiliation when his meltdown  A Capella audition had become viral. Nobody believed him about finding a job at his beloved Cornell. He proved it by finding a You Tube video of his commencement speech to the graduates. Andy's final words were so true, and to the point of things I touch upon in my blog about the ageing process. We never seem to realize it in the moment, when we are experiencing the best of times. We usually only recognize it after the fact.  This is especially true later in life, as I question whether or not I truly did seize such moments with all gusto.Just like Jim said, all of it would be incredible to have it all packaged up in a neat video documentary.    

Everything In Its Right Place

Lately I have been digging through some old gems gathering cobwebs in my CD rack and discovered Radiohead's "Kid A" album. Music, particularly albums such as this one brings me back to a time and place so long past in my life. I had been planning to write about where I was physically and mentally when I sat down and listened to this album for the first time, but somehow it does not translate well on to the written page. I actually did write a long diatribe before this one about my state of being when I moved out to Vancouver. Having read through and edited it, I felt that it came across way too self-indulgent. Suffice to say, though, this album stirs up a lot of buried feelings of isolation, loneliness and even anxiety. 

One might say that perhaps it is not healthy to revisit these feelings and memories, so it is best to put the CD right back on the rack and never listen to it again. I would respectfully disagree with myself, because re-visiting these moments helps me to appreciate where and who I am now that much more. I do reserve the right, though, to come back to Vancouver several times or never at all.   

As I wiped my original draft away, which consisted of several hours and days of typing, I cursed myself. I thought that perhaps I was over-analyzing things and worrying too much about the person(s) reading this blog. Perhaps I should be self-indulgent, as this is my project after all. This really is about me, and if the reader does happen to find any nuggets of wisdom or entertainment out of it, then that's great. It is not, however, the primary purpose of this exercise. More to the point, this is my release, of what has been going on in my mind and life for several years. It is purely autobiographical, but I do think some of my themes are universal. For instance, parenthood and raising a young child(ren). This is a topic which gives me great joy to write about, and I simply can't help writing about my incredible young boy. 

As the summer approaches, I think about the many ways that I used to enjoy the simple things in life. A beautiful sunny afternoon, out in the back on my lawn chair, listening to music and drinking beer. Ah....I can hear that familiar pop of the bottle cap and the feel of the moisture from the bottle now. Eventually I would muster up the energy to fire up the barbecue for my mouth-watering steak. These were simple hedonistic pleasures that I used to take full advantage of out in my little slice of suburbia. Things have changed a great deal since the arrival of my progeny, though, so these moments are fewer and further between. Take my music, for instance. There is very little opportunity to pop in the IPod or a CD these days. When I do listen to music, it is usually my boy's choice. His idea of good music is usually a hearty rendition of "Old Macdonald Had a Farm", or "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer". 

This will mark my fourth summer in our house with our quaint little back yard. As we only really get to enjoy it four or so months out of the year, my desire to simply sit and smell the roses grows really strong this time of year. The first two summers, again before our bundle of joy arrived, I would set up bird feeders. They would attract all sorts of lovely avian species. I particularly enjoyed visits from the Goldfinches. They are bright little yellow birds that squeak rather than chirp. The yard is bordered by a hydro corridor out back, so it is nice not to have neighbors behind us. The field is home to all sorts of interesting wild life, including pheasants. One spring morning we awoke to find 5 young pheasants eating discarded birdseed on the ground, while their nervous father paced back and forth on high alert. Another time, I spotted an opossum rooting around in the grass from my kitchen window. Other exotic creatures we have espied include deer, falcons, foxes and coyotes. 

Two years ago, almost to this day, my son was born. This will actually mark his third summer in life, though the first one he was merely a newborn baby. Instead of dwelling on what used to be, I find myself marveling at just how fast he has grown. Looking at pictures marking the seasons, he was in his tiny swing chair on a table that first summer. He was merely a couple of months old. The second summer, we have pictures of him in his playpen, as well as crawling and eventually on his two feet. Last summer was truly remarkable in terms of the milestones he had reached. he was naturally curious last summer (still is), and was determined to crawl or stumble his way to places he shouldn't have been. We had to constantly hover around him to correct course. This summer, as I mentioned, he will be out there on his new slide, playing with rocks and toys, and still going places he shouldn't be going to. He talks so much now, and usually when we are outside he wants his daddy to come and play with him.

  As much as I crave the chance to enjoy my summer in my own unique way, I realize that I feel fulfilled in a much different way now. Playing with my son, teaching him to climb his slide without rocks in his hands, telling him not to poke his eye out with sharp sticks....these are how my summer Saturday and Sunday afternoons will be filled. It also appears his mother has plans to put a small wading pool somewhere in the tiny lot. The yard space is suddenly at a premium, and I still haven't put up our tent /gazebo. That in itself takes up nearly the entire space. My wife has designs on pretty much ripping out every root in the garden beds, as well as cutting down trees and cleaning out shrub. Between my wife and my son, I let out a wistful sigh and resign myself to the responsibilities at hand. Somewhere in between, somehow, I expect I will manage to slip in a couple of cold ones and some music sessions here and there. Perhaps, if my timing is right, I might even have a cigar and some fine grilled meat. Well, I already know what I want for Father's Day.....question is, will I get it? 

Snail's Pace

This great writing project I resolved to undertake is going ever-so-slowly (hence the post title). It is partly due to current circumstances such as parenting a young boy, daily routines at work and home, and just plain indifference towards the whole exercise. I sometimes hearken back to days and nights, spent holed up in my various flats I occupied in Mongolia as I spent hours drinking beer, listening to music and writing in my journals. There was much inspiration to be had from my thoughts pertaining to solitude and isolation, relationships, and life in general as a stranger in a strange land. I like to think I came out of that two year experience a better writer, but in reality it was an exercise in self-indulgence.
I debated with myself often in those journals whether or not I would share them with my future wife and child(ren). I haven't done so as of yet. Actually, most of it would be incomprehensible to my two-year old son anyway. I haven't shared any of it with my wife. She did not know me back then, and if she had, she would have had nothing to do with me. She knows I am no paragon of virtue, so that is probably sufficient information in itself. Every now and then when I have a few moments to myself, I blow off the cobwebs and settle down to read through them again. As the years go by, the more distant these memories become. I don't doubt the authenticity, as it is all there in sloppy handwriting. I have not yet determined what to do with my tomes of drunken insights. I am thinking at this point that it might be appropriate to buy a bottle of vodka someday (a perilous drink that I have not touched since returning back to Canada 14 years ago) and polish it off with a good old-fashioned book burning ceremony. It is probably time to finally put that chapter / those chapters to rest.
I am wrestling with my conscience as I write this, and odds are I will not end up doing what I just said I would do. One thing is sure, though - the life I led and the experiences I had in Mongolia are definitely a fading object in my mind's rear-view mirror. Marriage and fatherhood have completely changed my outlook on life. I no longer have the luxury of time to indulge in my whims, nor do I really have the desire to. I do think about the friendships I forged over there, and often wonder what those friends are like now. I sometimes selfishly wonder if they ever think about me, as I do them. I often wonder if they, like me, settled into family life and (unlike me) never really gave their past a second thought. In this age of instant information,  it wouldn't be too difficult to track some old friends down. I imagine many of them do keep in touch through Facebook. Personally, I struggle with the concept of putting myself out there.
First and foremost, as I grow older, I tend to prefer remaining somewhat anonymous. My present-day clique consists of my wife and son, and I like it like that. I also remain leery about reconnecting with old friends, because I wonder to myself if I would have all that much in common with them anymore. I know I have changed a great deal, and I am sure that they have too. We came together in a unique fashion, in that we were cast together through a shared volunteer experience in a strange and very foreign country. Fact is, time has not stood still for any of us. We have compartmentalized memories of one another, however we are no longer those same people that met and fell in with one another so easily.
 There is something to be said about hanging on to the mystique of "What ever became of......" so and so. I like to imagine that everybody I knew went on to have great lives after leaving Mongolia. Odds are that probably isn't the case. It took me a very long time to get there, so I can imagine others had bumpy roads along the way too. As aimless as I was over there, I was even more adrift when I returned back from my two year sojourn. At least in Mongolia, I had gained some level of confidence in my teaching abilities, however I was not so sure I wanted to continue that path back in Canada. The longer it took me to decide as I bounced from job to job, and from couch to couch, the less sure I was about teaching again. Truth be told, I managed to pull it off in Mongolia just by virtue of my ethnicity and mother tongue. I knew I could not pull that off here. Alas, though, this is another tangent that could be best dealt with another time when I feel the inspiration to write again. Judging by the snail's pace I am going at now, it will probably be in the next six months or so. Until then, "bayartai" or "so long".