As with all relationships, there are moments where I’m entrenched in a deep, impassioned love for my fair city. These moments, however, are inevitably countered by others when I’m silently stewing over the latest injustice the metropolis has imparted. Like the time I tripped on an untied shoelace and fell into a construction ditch (true story), or when I’m driving and the city’s traffic lights conspire against me, so that I hit every red. My moments of adoration for Calgary typically occur while strolling along one of the city’s scenic river paths. It’s a network of paved trails that run along the grassy banks of the Bow River, gently winding along the waterway’s natural contours. To the west, I can see the Rocky Mountains, a striking vista with rugged peaks that pierce the clear, blue sky. It’s all very picturesque. It’s an optimistic horizon unblemished by clouds or signs of less favourable weather (oh Calgary in July, you deceptively charming season). Then there are other instances where I resent everything that lies within city limits. Where I curse the far-reaching corners of suburbia, which seem to extend in every direction, forever. And ever. On such days, I cast a critical glance at the sprawling thoroughfares practically coughing with traffic congestion and question: “What is this madness?” or “Why did I take this exit on Crowchild during rush hour? Do the city limits end here? Or there? Surely, it’s up ahead, where that solitary house stands?” But then I see another cluster of rooflines looming in the distance and I think, when it comes to Calgary, “city limits” may be loosely defined.
I’ve been staring at a blank page for about an hour trying to drum up a sharp, quick-witted idea to write about. Unfortunately, creativity is sometimes a surreptitious process, and today, it evades me entirely. I’m in the throes of a stubborn case of writer’s block. It’s a vexing and unwanted condition that’s best remedied by watching Seinfeld reruns, rereading old issues of The Walrus, engaging in staring competitions with my dog, Levi, and partaking in other effective forms of procrastination. Times like this are a humbling reminder that compelling ideas aren’t drawn from a bottomless well of innovation that I have unreserved access to. Sometimes ideas are more elusive. Sometimes they are tucked away, out of sight, forcing me to seek them out. It can be an exhausting—at times even defeating—routine.
I am a houseplant fanatic. When it comes to beautifying my home, plants are my favorite go-to décor. Plants add natural character and texture to a room and infuse a space with a bright, fresh feeling. Apart from looking lovely, house plants possess attractive health benefits too! They have air purifying effects and stress-reducing qualities. House plants are an attractive design element that promote health and wellness while providing eye-appealing aesthetics in any home. Although I’ve always been an avid fan of houseplants, for a long time I possessed something of a black thumb—the opposite of a more nurturing “green” one. So much so that I garnered a bit of a reputation at home as a plant murderer (I would like to contest these charges by pleading herbslaughter or negligence in the first degree, as these recurrent killings were always accidental.) The death of multiple plants under my care was undeniably discouraging. By the twelfth plant-related tragedy, I had all but given up. I seemed to possess an unwanted ability to transform anything green and leafy into a withered and frail stick near death’s garden bed. This unfortunate pattern was largely due to a lack of knowledge on basic plant care coupled with my misplaced assumption that when it came to plants, there was a status quo in terms of required upkeep—an across-the-board criterion that applied to anything flora-related. I was wrong.
Traveling is the ultimate escape. When wanderlust sets in, there are few things more exciting than the prospect of exploring a new place. Immersing yourself in the languages, culinary traditions, arts, sights, and sounds of another country or continent is the best way to get away from it all. At times, however, the planning stages before you embark on your next great adventure can be overwhelming. Additionally, after the packing there is the actual travel-component of your trip to contend with which, depending on your level of expertise, can be a nightmare to navigate. Long lines and wait times coupled with unexpected flight and transit delays can often be frustrating. I have, on occasion, during a particularly long layover or after missing a critical connection, wondered if the whole damn affair is worth the hassle and headache. Over the years though, I’ve learned some valuable lessons that have upped my travel game considerably. These are lessons born of my own on-road experiences as well as ones pulled from the pages of my friends’ travel diaries—consummate voyagers who have journeyed across the global and who were kind enough to share with me some of their professional traveling tips.
I’ve always been an outspoken autumn enthusiast. My affinity for thick knit sweaters and decorative gourd centrepieces cannot be overstated enough. A passion that often has me wrestling another woolly top into my already crowded closet and decorating my countertops in miniature squashes. Though I’ve never jumped on the Pumpkin Spice Latte bandwagon (a beverage enjoyed by what seems like a seasonal cult), anything else fall-related I tend to embrace. This is to the disdain of my more summer-oriented friends who curse the arrival of fall and yearn for the sun-kissed days of July. My love of fall is vested in the season’s charming hallmarks: the way oak, elm, and crab apple trees—those magical changelings—transition across a spectrum of color, cloaking my neighborhood in autumnal hues of gold and bronze. Or how my favorite, the towering maples, shed their leaves until the sidewalks resemble a crimson carpet. The invigorating crispness of the morning air that spurs me to wrap myself in a thick scarf during my morning walk to work. Or the way I don’t have to apply SPF 100 to my sun-sensitive skin each time I venture outdoors.
Our attempts to be hyper-productive and accomplish multiple things simultaneously can compromise our ability to focus and be effective in pursuits that truly matter. There will be instances where you think you are being efficient; however, you’ve actually just split your attention amongst multiple duties. Thus, making yourself more susceptible to mistakes and hindering your ability to take any pleasure in the process. The result? You’ve overcooked dinner while having a phone conversation with your friend, during which you’ve trailed off countless times because you decided there was a high-priority load of laundry to be done, in which you’ve unknowingly mixed a rogue red sock with your whites. This is because when you multitask, very rarely are you actually accomplishing multiple tasks at once. Instead, your brain is rapidly shifting attention between each of the activities you are attempting, which is counterintuitive to real productivity.
Months later, I drove to the scene of the accident—the place where he died. I pulled onto the highway’s shoulder and stood for a long while, examining the lines, only slightly faded, that veered sharply to one side before disappearing into the ditch. I studied their appearance, trying to interpret some meaning, hoping they might hold answers still. Vehicles sped by, some slowing, others honking, no doubt with irritation and surprise at the strange woman standing at the roadside, staring fixedly into the center lane. But the marks revealed little else apart from the glaringly obvious—a loss of control. In the end, I wondered whether the details really mattered, when knowing them or not, the outcome remained the same.