Have you ever woken up one morning to find that you are someone else? I don't mean in the literal sense, of course. Obviously I have never woken up in Oprah's pant suit or Nicholas Cage's toupee. I guess I mean this: Have you ever reflected on how much you have changed in a given amount of time, but you have no recollection of the transformation process?
Allow me to expand. I recently had a strange weekend. It started with a colleague of mine asking me if I'd be able to do an interview for a French-Canadian radio station about my views on the economic recession of 2008. With zero background in economics, I hesitantly agreed to help...mainly because she had already given the producer my contact information. The following day, a reporter showed up at my house, interviewed my family, and recorded our conversations as I prepared a roast and homemade apple pie for a dinner with friends that night.
This, my friends, is how I turned into a Quebecoise phenomenon.
Today, I listened to the broadcast of the story, and heard my own voice speaking French on a Canadian public radio station, similar to NPR. It was a little strange and surreal to know that my voice would be projected into the homes of people -who know nothing about me- in another country. Honestly, I thought it was pretty cool.
But then I listened to what I said. The reporter had asked what sorts of things our family aspired to earn, things that we might have been concerned about not attaining after the recession. I heard my voice say “Oh, rien de spectaculaire…peut-être une maison, un chien, un jardin.” ("Oh, nothing spectacular...maybe a house, a dog, a yard.") As soon as my own words fell upon my ears, I cringed. What had happened? This is not the person I was, nor the person I had hoped to become.
Of course there is nothing wrong with any of these things. In fact, I hate imagining myself without a dog, and I know that we need to move into a house (with an additional bedroom) in order to adopt our second child - a current dream/aspiration of ours. I'd love to have a yard with a garden and a place for my kids to play. So why was this answer bumming me out so much?
Recently, a friend and former classmate of mine landed a new job as a travel writer - my absolute dream job. I must say that, although I was very happy for her, it stung a bit to see someone else achieving a former (but not yet dead) dream of mine. As someone who fancies herself a free spirit, I have fantasized about drifting from one place to the next, writing about the places I go, the people I meet, the food I eat (read: inhale). I once told Habibi when we were dating that I never wanted to buy a house because I hated the idea of being tied to one place. I didn't want "a mortgage and a toaster," despite my love for toast. Yes, once upon a time, I treated the world as my playground. I had no problem traveling with the clothes on my back and a few basic essentials. I bought most of my clothes at thrift shops, and occasionally snagged something from the lost and found. (Don't worry, I washed everything before wearing.) I laughed at people who bought first class tickets from my seat in the poor people's train car. I thought nothing of sleeping in an airport...or a train station...or a library...or a bumper car. (I am reluctant to admit that these are all truths.)
If you were to ask me five or six years ago what made me the most happy, I'm sure I would have said something about traveling, or having a day completely open to spontaneity. I dreamed of flying by the seat of my pants and of being a true citizen of the world.
If you were to ask me two or three years ago what made me the most happy, I'm sure I would have said something about being with Habibi, traveling, reading a good book, spending time writing and journaling, and running.
And now? I am happiest when I am spending time with Habibi and Chicky. (It's an added bonus when Alice and Betty join us too.) On a more compulsive level, I seem to find the most satisfaction in a clean house, a well-fed and groomed family, happy kitties, and a complete set of lesson plans for my students. Yes, these are all good -and important- things, but it is funny how risk and adventure are replaced by security and routine as we age and our families grow.
I'm not here to say that either one of these philosophies is better than the other. In fact, I think there is a place for both of them in life and, at different stages, each of them helps us to evolve into the people we will ultimately become - a fluid idea in and of itself.
I hope that, some day, my affinity for action and adventure will resurface. I'd like to think that my tendencies to get into trouble and cause mischief will once again bring me the joy that they used to. But, for now, I will have to remain satisfied with providing a safe, loving and happy home for my family.
And if being an economic expert consultant for French-Canadian news stations has taught me anything, it's this: That's A-OK.
Allow me to expand. I recently had a strange weekend. It started with a colleague of mine asking me if I'd be able to do an interview for a French-Canadian radio station about my views on the economic recession of 2008. With zero background in economics, I hesitantly agreed to help...mainly because she had already given the producer my contact information. The following day, a reporter showed up at my house, interviewed my family, and recorded our conversations as I prepared a roast and homemade apple pie for a dinner with friends that night.
This, my friends, is how I turned into a Quebecoise phenomenon.
Today, I listened to the broadcast of the story, and heard my own voice speaking French on a Canadian public radio station, similar to NPR. It was a little strange and surreal to know that my voice would be projected into the homes of people -who know nothing about me- in another country. Honestly, I thought it was pretty cool.
But then I listened to what I said. The reporter had asked what sorts of things our family aspired to earn, things that we might have been concerned about not attaining after the recession. I heard my voice say “Oh, rien de spectaculaire…peut-être une maison, un chien, un jardin.” ("Oh, nothing spectacular...maybe a house, a dog, a yard.") As soon as my own words fell upon my ears, I cringed. What had happened? This is not the person I was, nor the person I had hoped to become.
Of course there is nothing wrong with any of these things. In fact, I hate imagining myself without a dog, and I know that we need to move into a house (with an additional bedroom) in order to adopt our second child - a current dream/aspiration of ours. I'd love to have a yard with a garden and a place for my kids to play. So why was this answer bumming me out so much?
Recently, a friend and former classmate of mine landed a new job as a travel writer - my absolute dream job. I must say that, although I was very happy for her, it stung a bit to see someone else achieving a former (but not yet dead) dream of mine. As someone who fancies herself a free spirit, I have fantasized about drifting from one place to the next, writing about the places I go, the people I meet, the food I eat (read: inhale). I once told Habibi when we were dating that I never wanted to buy a house because I hated the idea of being tied to one place. I didn't want "a mortgage and a toaster," despite my love for toast. Yes, once upon a time, I treated the world as my playground. I had no problem traveling with the clothes on my back and a few basic essentials. I bought most of my clothes at thrift shops, and occasionally snagged something from the lost and found. (Don't worry, I washed everything before wearing.) I laughed at people who bought first class tickets from my seat in the poor people's train car. I thought nothing of sleeping in an airport...or a train station...or a library...or a bumper car. (I am reluctant to admit that these are all truths.)
If you were to ask me five or six years ago what made me the most happy, I'm sure I would have said something about traveling, or having a day completely open to spontaneity. I dreamed of flying by the seat of my pants and of being a true citizen of the world.
If you were to ask me two or three years ago what made me the most happy, I'm sure I would have said something about being with Habibi, traveling, reading a good book, spending time writing and journaling, and running.
And now? I am happiest when I am spending time with Habibi and Chicky. (It's an added bonus when Alice and Betty join us too.) On a more compulsive level, I seem to find the most satisfaction in a clean house, a well-fed and groomed family, happy kitties, and a complete set of lesson plans for my students. Yes, these are all good -and important- things, but it is funny how risk and adventure are replaced by security and routine as we age and our families grow.
I'm not here to say that either one of these philosophies is better than the other. In fact, I think there is a place for both of them in life and, at different stages, each of them helps us to evolve into the people we will ultimately become - a fluid idea in and of itself.
I hope that, some day, my affinity for action and adventure will resurface. I'd like to think that my tendencies to get into trouble and cause mischief will once again bring me the joy that they used to. But, for now, I will have to remain satisfied with providing a safe, loving and happy home for my family.
And if being an economic expert consultant for French-Canadian news stations has taught me anything, it's this: That's A-OK.
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| Global wandering in 2006 allowed me to randomly stumble upon this crazy Euro techno party in Madrid, Spain. |
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| Following this performance, the artists unleashed mountains of soapy bubbles and invited the audience to join in the fun by playing, splashing and participating in the universal merriment that bubbles provide... I do not believe this was by chance. |
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