2015!!! 2015!!!! New year! New you!

It's that time of year when magazines and gyms start screaming at you in bright text that it's the new year and you can be an ALL NEW YOU, but by now, I think most humans realize they can only be sort of new-ish.

When I turn to blogging it usually means that I'm in some sort of introspective depression coil, but alas, maybe my once bitter, jaded heart is a little more hopeful this time around. Oh don't get me wrong, I had my annual WHAT HAVE I DONE WITH MY LIFE OMIGOD WHAT IS HAPPENING WHO AM I spiral of crying despair with the coming of the new year (tradition, after all), but something in my bones has been Cindy Lou Hoo'd and I'm gonna use this bit of hopefulness and run with it.

Every year I make a whole butt-load of resolutions as I think about all the things that are messed up about me that I hope I can change in 365 days. While that list of resolutions does exist for this year I thought I'd take a moment to revel in what I actually have achieved:

I made a conscious effort to work out more and in the summer had been going to yoga 4 times a week, muay thai kickboxing 2 times and running at least 10k every week. I had run the farthest I've ever ran at a single time (11.8k) and dropped a few pounds. Did I lose what I set out to lose? No. But I committed to getting back to a weight I was last at in high school so I feel like that was setting the bar wayyy too high. Creepily high. I also learned to swordfight (weird) and did a juice cleanse (wherein I felt I was dying and then wolfed down an entire pizza at the end of it...  And yet I still recommended others to do it. Oh ladies!).

I completed a 24 hour gaming marathon, took courses towards a tea sommelier certification, was a bridesmaid, went to Hawaii (attended first luau and learned to play ukulele), outgrew my perm (honestly the bane of my existence for the past year and a half! My life is so hard), was served tea gong fu cha style (and had some really old, really important tea... Felt like a big deal but I don't know any further details) and welcomed a new niece!

There are stuff left to do, but that's what new resolutions are for right?

So as much as I complain that my life is this great big nothing, I feel like I will be grateful for what I have, what I've done and what possibilities lie ahead.

Shaena

Enthralled in the shackles of Peril and other Pirate stories

This would be the name of my children's series of Pirate Tales or alternately, the title for a semi-erotic novel (for adults, obviously! Geez guys!).

In any case, I wanted a more punchy title than what is really on my mind which is the perils of commitment in all shapes and forms. You see lately I have been entertaining the thought of joining a new gym. It's shinier and newer and intense-er. It's also more expensive, but let's not get into that. the fact of the matter is, the money is not the issue. It's the 'being locked down for a year or two' that is actually where the panic sets in. My excuse is that I've been holding onto the very cliched phrase, "Well, I can't. I'm kind of a commitment-phobe". Isn't that the mantra of all single ladies and gents in their late twenties who actually mean to say that they have no idea why they can't really connect to anybody or who find any sort of planning terrifying or alternately, the mantra of those singles who inexplicably hate most other humans and don't really know the non-psychotic way to tell sane people this fact (ding, ding, this is me!).

No, but seriously. I have been battling with this idea of commitment and my resentment for any sort of long-term goals. I guess there's a part of me (an overwhelming part, I guess) that has this fear of falling. Cliche#2: The fear of failure (and the subsequent fear of success). I think I need to get over this fear of failure and loss and disappointment. I get the psychology, but it still does NOTHING for me.

Alternate theory: I'm trapped in some sort of time warp where I'm like that deadbeat obnoxious kid in a late 80's, early 90's tv show who wears a handkerchief around my head, denim ripped up vest and neon high tops (bullies were so colourful back in the day) who loathes any sort of planning and constantly yells "Don't tell me what to do! I don't follow your bogus rules!" Yes. I think I'm in sort of teenage rebellion phase. Planning and passion are for squares, man. Yeah, yeah, totally.

What's the resolution? I hear in most scenarios recognizing the problem is the first step. I let it stew in this step for unnaturally long periods. I am hoping step#2 is quit thinking about it and blogging it to death into this massive abyss (more pirate-y vocab) and just fucking get yourself out there and do something. Fear of commitment is just an unwillingness to trust in your plans (Plans with a capital P, if you're religious, I guess). Henceforth, to borrow from Nike, just do it and don't be such a chicken shit (borrowed from someone's grandpa, probably).

Many question marks looming

Right now I am blogging to rediscover myself. I've become kind of drone-like, which I guess it sort of the nature of growing up, yes? I mean, I know that there are these new-fangled jobs where there are foosball tables in the breakroom and where shoes are optional, but at the heart of it, there is a sort of grayness that follows 'growing up'. A grayness that I have yet to really understand.

I work at a standard 9-5 (or if we're being exact, 8:00-5:00) which I don't loathe, but I also don't feel entirely at peace with. It's because it's not my "calling". Not my "passion". All those things that were promised to me when I graduated university 2 years ago (wait, 3 years ago?). You know when things are temporary and so you just start to not give a shit? You kind of become disengaged, sneak in and sneak out, eat lunch in the bathrooms like some anti-social loser and tell people you have a million plans on the weekend so you'd rather not go to some after-work social party? Then you realize that that supposedly temporary job has lasted for three years and you become caught in this really strange and awkward limbo. Where people start to wonder. And ask questions. And you become accountable for shit you didn't want to be accountable for. And you start to decorate your desk and making it more 'home-y'. And you realize your boss is telling you about the plans for next year and the great pension plan for fifty years down the road when you retire and you nod, and say it sounds great and you'll start making plans for next year.

And then the panic sets in.

Because I don't want to be here. But then the obvious question is, well, where do you want to be? And the answer is not anywhere else, but somewhere else. Somewhere 'right'. But again, what is that? I have been to about five psychics in the past year or so in hopes that someone will just tell me what to do. Just tell me what to do to make me stop wondering and I'll do it. But darn them, they won't. Sometimes I forget that these are psychics and they don't cast spells or tell you what to do. They tell you what you're inclined to do and inclined to have and they don't always guarantee that those things will be spectacular. Bollocks.

One psychic told me now is the time to act. Is there anything more ambiguous than that sort of phrase? "Now is the time to be passionate." What the heck am I supposed to do with that? So I said, "The problem is I've lost a bit of passion" to which she replied, "Maybe you never had passion. You're not a passionate person. You're not excited about life. Find something to be excited about." Well, why didn't I think of that? This whole time I've been looking for things to make me depressed and angry!

Okay, but seriously, I get it. No one can tell you what you'll be passionate about and it is true that sometimes you have to look for it and not wait for inspiration to hit you on the head. However, I suppose all this time I've thought about everything I hate and dislike. I've only been eliminating everything I hate, because that's easier, but maybe I should be going about this more optimistically.

I don't know. Work, career, direction. Can't I pay someone to find all this stuff for me?

Tales from a 25-year-old nothing

I feel inspired to blog. Blogging is wonderful isn't it? It's like it's 1999 all over again (You: "But Shaena, did you even have the internet in 1999?" Me: "Shut up, and don't ever EVER bring up my pseudo-Amish upbringing EVER AGAIN!" ). No I don't think I had the internet in 1999. I was never part of ICQ or had a geocities/asian avenue page full of swirly, glittery banners and pix of THA HOTTEST GUYZ EVA from the BSB and NSync (You: "But Shaena, your notebooks will reveal that you actually liked Hanson!" Me: "Shut up and don't ever EVER bring up my pseudo-lesbian stage EVER AGAIN!" ).

Anyway, this is my announcement that I shall start blogging again. I recently watched 'eat, pray, love' which inspired me to start writing, because if that adulterous nut-job could get a book deal... No, no, that punchline could be better. I recently watched 'eat, pray, love' which inspired me to write ::beat:: anything to get my mind off of that horrendous novel. Nailed it. That's a keeper for my fictitious stand-up routine.

This is a new stage in my life and henceforth, I shall begin blogging again (I initially wanted to start journaling again, but the fingers just cannot take extended periods of writing anymore). I have many, many, many interesting thoughts, so stay tuned (this is probably an overstatement. Most likely my thoughts will revolve around being annoyed by our transit system and early mornings). I am awakened and starting anew! It's puberty number 2! I shall become a new woman! I hopefully will grow better breasts this time around! yippee!*

*I am not crazy. Perhaps slightly delirious from a lack of sleep, but still sane.

So, yes. That's that. I will start blogging again. Why not.