Tales of an Urban Newbie: February 14 - 20, 2011

My week started out innocently enough, I was scheduled mostly nights, starting at 5 pm, and since I was expecting a very special foreign visitor I had the weekend off again.  It was my first full week on the phones and I was starting to get the hang of selling the wide variety of products that the call centre took orders for.  We had scripts for all of the products that automatically popped up on our screens, so the way I looked at it was if you could read you could do this job. 

Most of the calls I received were for a bra that women (and sometimes men) would call to order after seeing an infomercial on television hosted by some Australian lady who I know nothing about.  In training we were told that it was our job to make these bra’s out to be the best product on the face of the planet, which made my job extra entertaining when only a couple of weeks in I received a call from a lady who told me that she heard the fabric was designed by NASA.  Although I don’t know if this is true, I didn’t bother correcting her because, after all, the best bra on the planet should be designed by astronauts.

While at work, the evening shifts were mostly laid back.  Calls came in a lot less frequently than they did during the day and the evening staff was mostly young students, making the atmosphere even more casual.  In between calls the agents would work on homework or chat with each other and when people found out how new I was to the city, they all went out of their way to share their own personal “best of Montreal” with me.

In my first week I found out there is a bar that serves candy, aptly called CandyBar, and every drink has a candy at the bottom.  I learned about an all-you-can-eat Brazilian restaurant where the waiters shave meat right off a hot skewer and onto your plate.  There was a brunch joint close to Old Port with some of the most unique and delicious breakfast delicacies and espresso-based coffee.  And, I couldn’t forget about the always inexpensive, but always delicious, Thai cuisine that could be found at a hip little joint in Chinatown.

Being the foodie that I am, I was more than excited to experience all of these places in due time.  But first, there was work to be done.  It was also my first week writing for CollectivelyBeautiful.com and I’d chosen some really interesting, but rather challenging, articles to tackle in my first two weeks.

While most of the articles I’d chosen involved research or drawing from personal experiences, there was one that I thought could potentially be difficult for me, especially on a moral level:  I was going to be interviewing a friend of mine about her divorce.  I believe there comes a time in every writer’s life when he or she questions their own capacity to write about people whom they care about.

I consider myself lucky enough to have those people care equally for me, and embrace the opportunity to help me with my career, so when I asked Michelle for an interview she was more than pleased to shed some light on the topic.  And as it turned out, the interview helped her develop her own thoughts and further understand her experience, so in the end we really both benefited from the interview.

That Wednesday I was going to make another attempt at seeing some live music, this time for the Wild Nothing featuring Abe Vigoda at La Salla Rosa.  My roommate and I arrived in good time, not only catching the main features, but also the local band that opened the evening, though I couldn’t decide if I liked them or not.  My opinion wavered so much that I was changing my opinion as frequently as between verses and the chorus of individual songs.  In retrospect, if my perspective was faltering that much, they probably weren’t that good.

Abe Vigoda, on the other hand, took me by total surprised and seriously rocked the house.  These LA rockers had a ton of stage presence and energy and got even a hipster crowd moving (which is a feat, for anyone who’s familiar with the indie music scene which is full of shoe-gazers with their hands in their pockets).  After a full set with a nice mix of old and new songs, they welcomed the headliners, the Wild Nothing, to the stage for a great display of musical prowess and stamina.  They played all of my personal favourites, and even included some new material.  Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to shake the crowd from their corpse-like hipster state, even though it should have.  I know I got a little glisten on. 

We ended the night with some delicious Montreal smoked meat sandwiches and poutine, and though my appetite was satisfied, my mind and heart weren’t, suffering from the anticipation of having mere hours to wait before my reunion with whom I like to call my “foreign acquisition”, and whom Ms. Charles and I like to call my “non-boyfriend”.  Not because he isn’t, per se, or not because I’m a commitment-phobe, but because I’ve developed an aversion to the term after realizing that most people who call themselves by the title rarely live up to it.  Anyway, he can go by a variety of monikers, including my personal favourite, “The New Jersey Love Machine,” but his proper name is Matt.  He would be arriving first thing Friday morning and would be in Montreal for four days, so to say I was excited was an understatement.

And so I found myself at the Greyhound station at 8 am sharp (I hate lateness), only to find out that his bus was held up at the border with two “illegals” on board.  So I trudged to Second Cup for a coffee and to check out some local newspapers for things to do for the next few days.  When he finally arrived, we were both hungry and sleep-deprived, but relieved of our anticipation.

In the next three days our time was fully occupied with museum visits, restaurant trials, and more attempts at seeing live music.  Friday night we went to two separate venues for two separate bands and were brutally reject by both of them, sent back into the cold to suffer through blowing snow and icy conditions (I’m not being dramatic here – this is actually what happened!).  Due to the infamy of Schwartz’s Hebrew Deli, we decided to go, but this was my third visit in 2 weeks, and I was starting to tire of the routine.

We made our way around by Metro all weekend, checked out all of the restaurants I had in mind, including Le Milsa on Crescent where I had the most delicious, hot, fresh and, most importantly, unlimited quantity of spiced rotisserie meats.  Ten different varieties of meat were all served alongside a live show of what I presume was a Brazilian man who was wearing nothing but a fedora, pants and a vest, and a woman dressed very caribana, both shaking what their mama’s gave them to some really loud Brazilian music.  Nil Bleu, an Ethiopian restaurant on St. Denis was also a treat, with their sleek, hip interior including a glossy white mini grand piano; though their serving size and selection for their variety plates were slightly less appealing than the other Ethiopian places we had visited in Toronto, New York City, and Montclair, New Jersey.  And for brunch, we made sure to check out the Griffintown Cafe, which had the most delicious Americano I have ever tasted, and a unique, fresh, flavour-orgy inducing menu (I recommend the French toast, but also laid eyes on the most breathtaking eggs Benedict, possibly in all of human history).

During the day on Saturday we went to the Musee de Beaux Arts and marvelled especially at their contemporary exhibit on their lowest level – it was quite the treat for the eyes.  That night we made it to Il Motore for Akron/Family and New Jersey natives, Delicate Steve.  To say I was pleased with the instrumental openers who hailed from the dirty Jers’ was an understatement – they were phenomenal, but Akron/Family, who we had been listening to frequently in preparation for the show, decided to pull an interesting stunt that left me far from amused. 

Their spectacle included 15-20 minute long songs that didn’t resemble anything from their album, and included what I interpreted as desperate attempts to be unique, which included inaudible moanings into the microphone, which was being fully deep-throated by the lead singer, along with mutterings and gibberish that made me question whether I was at a live music venue or a Holy Rollers Convention.  Now, I’m all for a good stage show – but when Matt had seen them only the week before, they were nothing like this, which lead me to believe that they were probably hung-over and/or tired and/or too lazy and ungrateful for our attendance to play a full live set.  So, after waiting 15 minutes for the current song to end, we decided to leave.

We definitely made the most of our time together, even though we got lost a couple of times (on my account, as usual) and didn’t get to do everything or eat at every restaurant that we’d planned.  But, that just leaves more reason for him to come back for another visit soon.  He left Monday that on the midnight bus back to Newark, and so I returned to routine as well, taking calls for bras, writing, and experiencing more of this wonderful city.

This is why I'm vegan. Now stop harassing me about my protein intake.

So, it was suggested to me that I should write a blog about why I became vegan.  I've found that since becoming vegan, I've been explaining myself - a lot.  Either defending my protein intake, excusing myself from eating certain things, ensuring that I'm being "healthy", defending my choice, and just about every other wild and crazy debate and discussion you can think of.

Here's how it went:

Firstly, I "became" vegan unintentionally.  After a visit from Matt over two months ago where I had eaten entirely too much meat and dairy (on his last night in Montreal we ate for two hours at an all-you-can-eat Brazilian restaurant that served 12 varieties of rotisserie meats), I decided to do a cleanse.  I'd be vegan for a month to detox my system, give it a well-needed rest, and reduce the bloating I was having from all the dairy and salty foods I'd been eating.

My first week of being vegan was a little challenging, but bringing food to work with me helped and I started researching and trying new recipes instead of just eating salad and quinoa.  What I started realizing was that I actually enjoyed the hunt - I liked looking for new recipes, making alterations based on my taste and trying new things.  I really liked cooking - a lot.

During the next 4 weeks my energy levels increased, I lost a couple of pounds (probably mostly in water weight), I stopped craving salt like I used to, I felt happier, was sleeping better, and felt like I was getting into a natural rhythm.  The only thing that became difficult was continually defending my decision, but usually when people found out I was only doing it for a month, they relaxed and stopped bothering me.

On my 28 day mark, I was to arrive in New Jersey for a visit with Matt and the end of my vegan cleanse (since all we do is eat new food while we're together).  For the next five days I gorged on waffles with whipped cream, pulled pork taco sliders, ice cream, and just about anything else I could get my little Canadian hands on.  And in return I had severe stomach pains every day and nightmares every night.  I felt lethargic, had no motivation to go to the gym or work out, and was sleeping 9+ hours a night.

It became clear to me exactly what was going on.  My body was happy with the way it was under my new vegan regimen, and was rejecting the old chemical-, hormone-, preservative-filled foods I was pumping into it again.

When I got back to Montreal I started reading Alicia Silverstone's book The Kind Diet.  This book touches upon a wide variety of reasons for becoming vegan, and just one of these reasons is the inhumane treatment of animals in industrial food production facilities.  I say this because for the vast majority of non-vegans that I've crossed since making my choice, most of them raise their eyebrows and make some snide remark about me wanting the save the cute little cows or chickens or whatever.  While I disagree with the way animals are treated in mass production, unethical facilities, I've gotta admit that my reasons for deciding to stay vegan were a lot more selfish than that.

In Alicia's book, she touches on the way animals are slaughtered and how it actually effects the meat itself - this is what got me.  When an animal is in a slaughterhouse, it's aware of what's going on around it, and when it's time to go under the knife, the animal knows it's about to die.  All animals possess a fight-or-flight impulse that will help any creature to survive a threatening situation.  When an animal goes to slaughter, it's fight-or-flight impulses and stress hormones kick in, causing the chemicals adrenaline and cortisol to spike in production.  

Now, in humans, adrenaline is produced naturally, which can give us a rush and make us feel good, or in too-high doses it can cause aggression and anger (this is the "fight" part of the fight-or-flight impulse).  Cortisol is naturally produced by humans, too; when we get stressed out, our cortisol levels increase and this has been linked to weight gain and a variety of other stress-related ailments (this biological reaction dates back to the caveman days when "stress" meant "food shortage" so our bodies released cortisol to store fat for famine, even though this is no longer the case).  So, consider this:  animal secretes adrenaline and cortisol moments before being slaughtered, therefore, those chemicals are released into the blood, which pumps through the muscles, which then get packaged and sent to grocery stores and bought by people who cook it up and eat it, so those chemicals get passed into us!  If these chemicals are already proven to negatively affect us when we produce them ourselves, then what do you think is going to happen when we consume more when we eat foods that are laden with it?  Cortisol and adrenaline overload = angry, fat people!  That's not good for anyone!

And not only that, but because the FDA doesn't enforce slaughterhouse rules as tightly as they should, we have cases of food contamination.  Do you want to know why that happens?  You probably don't, because it's going to ruin eating meat for most of you, but I'm going to tell you anyway.  When they string up an animal for slaughter, slaughterers go at it with knives, usually while it's alive, slashing away all willy nilly!  In the process, sometimes internal organs are pierced, like colons, which are full of shit - literally.  What does this mean?  Escherichia coli, or E. coli, which is responsible for 20-30 deaths, countless food recalls and over 70,000 illnesses every year.  Fluids from the liver, pancreas and gallbladder can all make their way into our meats, too, filling us with all kinds of nasty toxins.  Milk isn't safe either.  Cows are often over-milked, causing inflammation and infection in their teats, which translates into puss in your milk, cheese, butter and yogurt.  YUMMY!

To top it all off, these poor animals are fed nutrient deficient food and pumped full of hormones and antibiotics, which all (you guessed it!) gets passed onto us in their meat.  And we wonder why we're living in an increasingly aggressive, anti-biotic resistant, messed up, cancer-ridden world.

Also, the anti-establishmentarian in me loathes the incestuousness of the industry and government.  These industries pay government parties and officials millions of dollars every year to promote legislation that will keep them on top, and they spend even more promoting their "staples" as absolutely necessary to human survival.  Let's get one thing straight:  until refrigerators were invented, meat, dairy, eggs and  cheese were rarely eaten at every meal.  It's was impossible.  They couldn't be stored for long periods of time like they are now.  Yet, somehow, people still survived.  How could this be?!  Well, I know it's hard to believe, since the dairy, egg and meat industries have brainwashed us into believing that their foods are the only complete forms of proteins, calcium and other nutrients available, but you can get all of those things from other sources - and they're even better sources than meats, eggs, and dairy!

Our bodies use a huge amount of energy to digest these nutrient-deficient, hormone-filled, antibiotic-laden foods.  So, a plant-based diet - one that includes other sources of protein, like beans, lentils, dark greens, and sea vegetables if you're so inclined - is going to provide you with all the vitamins, nutrients, and amino acids (these make up proteins) that you'll need to life a healthy life.  And you'll likely find that you're naturally staying away from preserved foods, which are often extremely high in sodium, and junk foods that have dairy products in them and are often high in fat and refined sugars.  Just what the doctor ordered!  

Whodathunkit?!  A natural diet makes us feel most human - not so shocking when you really think about it.  And vegan diets have been proven to reverse a plethora of medical conditions - even cancer!

Now, I'm not writing this to tell people to become vegan or vegetarian, though it would be nice if a few did.  I'm writing this because most people just don't know about this stuff - I know I didn't!  But in order to make a change in your life, you need to find a reason that will work for you.  If that's thinking about the cute furry animals and not wanting to be responsible for hurting them anymore--cool.  If it's the reasons I listed above--cool.  If it's jut wanting to make a healthy change for yourself and the environment (don't get me started on the waste that's produced and the water that's used for raising livestock!)--COOL!  Whatever your reason is, you've gotta believe in it.

If you still want more information, hit up the interweb.  There's so much information online.  Go to www.sprword.com for some mad chill documentaries on food production and other cool stuff.  Read Alicia's book The Kind Diet, or find another book that you are more drawn to.  And even if you don't go vegan, at least educate yourself and stop making yourself look like an ignorant asshole when you talk to me about how "unhealthy" I am for being vegan.  What's in your food that makes it healthier than mine? Don't know?  Then go find out.

Tales of an Urban Newbie: February 7 - 14, 2011

After a full week of apartment sabotage, job interviews, and getting lost multiple times, I’m surprised I had any energy left in me to make it another week (okay, I’m a little melodramatic).  Somehow, I made it through, and secured three jobs in the process. 

I began my first week in training for a position as a call centre agent.  I greedily accepted this position with the intention of quitting after my training week so that I could move onto a more respectable position as an HR interviewer for a background checking company.  After spending a week in training, making a few friends, and realizing that the job wasn’t as evil as I’d anticipated, my opinion started to sway. 

During the week I got closer with my training group, met some of the other call centre agents and staff members, and tried to catch my next concert, the Weakerthans that Thursday at Le Cabaret du Mile End.  My roommate, her sister and I left for the Cabaret at around 6:30 pm – which should have been plenty of time, even considering that we were going for smoked meat at the world famous Schwartz’s Montreal Hebrew Delicatessen and I had to meet up with Ms. Charles to sign our contract for CollectivelyBeautiful. 

But when we were outside the Laurier Metro station after filling our bellies and signing the contract we were asked by a kind, young stranger if we knew where the Brasserie Artisanale Dieu Du Ciel was.  I could hardly pronounce it, let alone locate it on a map.  After collaboratively inspecting the giant city map outside the Metro we realized we were going in the same direction, so we all decided to walk together. 

When we got to the Brasserie, our new friend invited us in to have a beer.  In the spirit of making new friends, we thought “what the hell, why not?” and decided to join him and his friend (for anonymity’s sake, I’ll call them Shawn and Rick.  Rick had recently moved to Montreal, and Shawn was planning to once he found work, so we all bonded through our common lack of friends in the area.  After about 45 minutes, we decided to head to the concert and bid our new friends farewell.

Arriving at the Cabaret was like déjà vu.  I could hear the music, I sprinted up the stairs, but when I got to the top no one asked me to pay admission and the people in the crowd gave us really strange looks.  About thirty seconds later the band announced that it would be their last song of the night.  (If you’re counting, the current score for concert attendance is Montreal - 2, Allie - zero.)  So, I figured at least at this rate the next concert I’d go to that I would see three songs, minimum.  You have to celebrate the small victories.

Now, by the end of the week there were a few things about the call centre that slowly won me over.  One of my biggest complaints about my last job in government was that it was really difficult to make friends there who had similar interests as me, since the vast majority of my co-workers were married with children.  So the fact that the call centre is made up of a predominantly young staff was really appealing to me.  I was already making friends in a new city in my first week – more than I’d made in Edmonton in two and a half years. 

Also, probably for the same reason that it was easy to make friends, it was a really laid back environment – I could wear leggings and a hoodie to work, which I can’t say the same for any of my jobs since I stopped babysitting.  My co-workers all shared a similar cynical sarcasm for life in general and I felt like I fit in almost immediately.

Finally, my schedule at the call centre had the ability to be extremely flexible.  The company used an online scheduling system that lets employees check their schedule, drop shifts, pick up shifts or trade shifts, request time off, and check when other employees are working.  Being an internet junkie and techo-geek, the idea of having my schedule at my fingertips really revved my engine.  Another small win-over was the potential for commission – it wouldn’t be much, but probably enough to make a small dent in the month bills.

My final decision was made when I called the other job to find out if I could get time off before I started – I needed the following Friday and Monday off: that was it.  When the woman called me back, she left a message saying that if I couldn’t make training they would have to offer the job to someone else.  Now, it wasn’t necessarily what she said, but how she said it that I was offended by.  Her tone came across “holier than thou,” like my very survival was in her hands alone, and the attitude turned me off more than the fact that they wouldn’t give me the time off.  My roommate’s twin sister was in town that week and I ended up forgetting to call the other job I’d been offered until Sunday.  When I called I mentioned not only would I be declining the position due to my scheduling conflict, but also that I’d been offered another position. 

This seemingly harmless voicemail would eventually give me the age-old “foot in mouth” syndrome, but I’ll save those details for week six.

My Promise...

Althought at the moment I currently am writing about many past-tense issues and events, mostly to do with my own life, that, of course, is not my ultimate goal.  As many of you may or may not know, I'm attending graduate school in June of this year to pursue a professional career in Journalism.  I've been doing my best to remain up-to-speed with national and international events, but an open letter posted almost a year ago by the Canadian Association of Journalists only recently caught my attention, and it stirred something deep inside of me - giving me chills again and again.

Let me begin by defining my goals as a journalist:

I want to be honest and transparent, even if that means not getting the most razzle-dazzle story out there.

I want to be dedicated and passionate, and I want those qualities to be reflected in my work.

I want to be a representative and spokesperson for Canadians and citizens of the world, alike - finding out the answers to the questions that many will never be given the opportunity to ask.

I want to have the opportunity to cover meaningful and powerful stories that will hopefully rejuvenate and revolutionize our nation.

I believe this is my duty as a person, a journalist, and a Canadian.

That being said, I think that it's imperative that every Canadian reads this open letter authored by many journalists in Canada who also share these values.  Each of us needs to forget the glitzy, hot-topic, cultivated news that we have become so accustomed to.  This is not real news.  The real news is what we're not seeing.  The acts that are staged by our government are just that - an act.  The real news is that we're not getting all the answers, all of the facts, or even all of the footage, from our government.  

So please, read this letter and support your local and national journalists in their battle against our nations political representatives for truth, transparency, and respect - not only for journalists as professionals, but for each of us as proud citizens of this great nation and the world.

"June 2010

A few weeks ago, many journalists nodded knowingly at this Tweet by Canadian Press reporter Jennifer Ditchburn.

“My Friday giggle… a spokesperson who emails me “on background” and then says: I can’t answer your question.”

It’s a bit of gallows humour about a problem that began as a minor annoyance for reporters working on Parliament Hill in Ottawa and has grown into a genuine and widespread threat to the public’s right to know.

Most Canadians are aware of the blacked-out Afghan detainee documents and the furor over MPs’ secret expenses. 

But the problem runs much deeper.

Under Prime Minister Stephen Harper, the flow of information out of Ottawa has slowed to a trickle. Cabinet ministers and civil servants are muzzled. Access to Information requests are stalled and stymied by political interference. Genuine transparency is replaced by slick propaganda and spin designed to manipulate public opinion.

The result is a citizenry with limited insight into the workings of their government and a diminished ability to hold it accountable. As journalists, we fear this will mean more government waste, more misuse of taxpayer dollars, more scandals Canadians won’t know about until it’s too late.

It’s been four years since Harper muzzled his cabinet ministers and forced reporters to put their names on a list during rare press conferences in hopes of being selected to ask the prime minster a question. It’s not uncommon for reporters to be blackballed, barred from posing questions on behalf of Canadians.

More recently, information control has reached new heights. Access to public events is now restricted. Photographers and videographers have been replaced by hand-out photos and footage shot by the prime minister’s press office and blitzed out to newsrooms across Canada. It’s getting tougher to find an independent eye recording history, a witness seeing things how they really happened — not how politicians wish they’d happened. Did cabinet ministers grimace while they tasted seal meat in the Arctic last summer? Canadians will never know. Photographers were barred from the fake photo-op.

Those hand-out shots are, unfortunately, widely used by media outlets, often without the caveat that they are not real journalism.

In the end, that means Canadian only get a sanitized and staged version of history — not the real history.

Meanwhile, the quality of factual information provided to the public has declined steadily. Civil servants – scientists, doctors, regulators, auditors and policy experts, those who draft public policy and can explain it best to the population — cannot speak to the media. Instead, reporters have to deal with an armada of press officers who know very little or nothing at all about a reporter’s topic and who answer tough questions with vague talking points vetted by layers of political staff and delivered by email only.

In addition, the Access to Information system has been “totally obliterated” by delays and denials, according to a scathing report by the country’s information commissioner. Requests are met with months-long delays, needless censoring and petty political interference — the most cringe-worthy recent example involves a bureaucrat forced to make a mad dash to the mailroom to rescue a report on Canada’s real estate holdings after a senior political aide ordered the report “unreleased.”
Politicians should not get to decide what information is released. This information belongs to Canadians, the taxpayers who paid for its production. Its release should be based on public interest, not political expediency.

This breeds contempt and suspicion of government. How can people know the maternal-health initiative has been well thought out or that the monitoring of aboriginal bands has been done properly if all Canadians hear is: “Trust us”?

Reporters have been loath to complain about this problem. But this needs to change. This is not about deteriorating working conditions for journalists. It’s about the deterioration of democracy itself.

Last month, reporters gathered in Montreal at the Canadian Association of Journalists’ conference to discuss these issues. On behalf of our members, we are calling on journalists to stand together and push back by refusing to accept vague email responses to substantive questions that require an interview with a cabinet minister or a senior civil servant. We are also asking journalists to stop running hand-out photos and video clips.

We are also calling on journalists to explain better to readers and viewers just how little information Ottawa has provided for a story. Every time a minister refuses to comment, a critical piece of information is withheld or an access request is delayed, Canadians deserve to know.

Finally, we are asking editors to devote the time and money it takes to dig beyond the stage-managed press conferences to get to the real story.

This is not about ideology or partisanship on the part of journalists. Journalists aren’t looking to judge the policies of the Conservative government. Rather, we want to ensure the public has enough information to judge for themselves.

Journalists are your proxies. At our best, we ask the questions you might ask if you had a few minutes with your prime minister or with Environment Canada’s top climatologist. When we can’t get basic information, we can’t hold your government to account on your behalf. In order to have a genuine debate about matters of national interest, people need information. In order for citizens to be involved and engaged and make smart choices at voting time, they need information. It’s time we got some.

Hélène Buzzetti
President, Canadian Parliamentary Press Gallery

Mary Agnes Welch
President, Canadian Association of Journalists

Brian Myles
President, Fédération professionnelle des journalistes du Québec

Kim Trynacity
President, Alberta Legislature Press Gallery

Christine Morris
President, New Brunswick Press Gallery

David Cochrane
President, Newfoundland Press Gallery

Réal Séguin
President, Quebec Press Gallery

Wayne Thibodeau
President, Press Gallery of the Prince Edward Island Legislative Assembly

Karen Briere
President, Saskatchewan Legislature Press Gallery Association"

http://www.caj.ca/?p=692

Tales of an Urban Newbie: The Trials and Tribulations of Acclimating to a New City

(This series of articles about my getting to know Montreal is also featured on the website www.CollectivelyBeautiful.com, along with many other useful, interesting, and thought-provoking pieces - take a look!)

So, although I’ve visited Montreal several times before, and have visited countless other cities, I’m still incredibly directionally challenged.  And that’s just the icing on the cake.  Add in the fact that I’m most familiar with running on New York time (where just about everything begins at least 45 minutes after it’s supposed to) and it’s a recipe for disaster.

Firstly, I’m not sure if it’s just my apartment, or apartments all over Montreal, but I’m fairly certain that everything in my apartment, from the front door locks to the knobs on the stove, work backward.  I arrived to my apartment after a 20-hour train ride from Nova Scotia, I had 9 pieces of luggage with me, and was stranded in the hallway because I couldn’t unlock my door.  

After 45 minutes of turning one lock, then the other, then turning them back again, I finally managed to make my way inside.  I’m used to locks that unlock when you turn the key counter clockwise, and lock when you turn them clockwise; however, my new door does just the opposite.  I don’t know any other person who has broken a sweat unlocking their front door, but I somehow managed it. 

One can’t live in an apartment without food in it, so I decided it was grocery time.  I headed down the street to the local Metro to pick up the usual basics and everyday items.  What I didn’t realize upon exiting the store was that there are, in fact, two entrances/exits in two different sides of the building.  I, of course, exited out a different door than I had come in, without realizing it, which resulted in me walking four blocks in the wrong direction with five heavy bags of groceries.  When I realized how lost I was, I gave up and called a cab.  I had walked in the precise opposite direction of my apartment.  Five dollars, and less than three blocks, later my less was learned.

Now, I was starving.  I hadn’t eaten since the night before on the train when I had a miniscule egg sandwich with couscous, which was grossly overpriced.  I put a pot of water on the stove and waited for it to boil.  This attempt gave me a whole new appreciation for the saying, “a watched pot never boils.”  I waited, and waited… then waited some more.  Nearly an hour passed and the water was still just barely warmer than room temperature. 

What I didn’t realize, that my front door lock and stove knobs had conspired against me.  For every stovetop appliance that I’ve used in recent memory, you turn the knob counterclockwise, to turn it on, and as you continue to turn, the temperature will get hotter and hotter.  This was not the case in my apartment, but the complete opposite.  And, to make matters work, only half of the burners on the stove are functional.  I’m surprised I didn’t pass out from exhaustion by the time I finally managed to make my meal.  Needless to say, I expected the worst when I went to take a shower later that night.  Thankfully, showers are pretty fool-proof.

That weekend I had planned to see a band called the Radio Dept. that I’ve been waiting to check out for about a year now.  They were playing at a little venue that is inside a bigger venue, on Rue Prince-Arthur.  Tickets were only $15, and even though there was a blizzard outside, my roommate and I decided to brave the weather for some good live music.  We left our apartment at 10:45 pm, expecting the headlining band to go on around 11:30 pm or so. 

My assumption was based on the usual schedules of shows that take place in the greatest metropolis in North American – New York City – and this assumption couldn’t have been farther from actuality.  After trudging though the snow with the wind howling past us, we arrived at the venue.  It was around midnight and as I ran up the stairs the anticipation continued to build, but when I got to the top of the stairs and sprung through the door, the venue was empty, the stage was torn down, and the music was no where to be heard.  I asked the bartender what time the bands usually come on.  She helpfully responded, “Anytime”.  “Yeah, thanks,” I thought, “That was really helpful.”

I sulked my way to the other, larger venue there, since we’d already paid cover.  It wasn’t exactly the live rock I’d expected, but we made the most of it anyway.  After evading a creepy Swedish man who was clearly on mood-enhancing drugs, watching a young guy spontaneously projectile vomit next to us, and dancing and laughing more than I previously considered humanly possible, we headed home. 

It was a successfully unsuccessful first outing in Montreal and a solid way to end my first full week in my new home city.  Though, I was hoping that my skills and timing would get better as time went by.

Magnetism

The more I put myself out there, the more I start realizing that I'm constantly attracting more people with similar thoughts, perspectives, ideas and attitudes that are similar to my own.  I used to wonder if I was crazy, if I was drinking the proverbial punch, if I was the star of some "Truman Show" of the 21st Century.

How could it be possible for my life to change to drastically, so seemingly seamlessly, in such short periods of time?

It all started back in my sophomore year of university when I stopped listening to what society thought about what I should do with my life.  I stopped being concerned with whether or not there would be a job or significant money for me waiting at the end of my degree, and I started listening to my heart.  I kept thinking, "What use is a well paying job in a field that I hate?"  That's when I realized, it's of no use at all.  Why go through four years of misery, which is only going to inevitably lead to more misery?

I remember the day it all hit me.  I was going to a leadership retreat in the south shore of Nova Scotia with Tim Merry among others, for a session called "The Art of Hosting" which focused on facilitating meaningful conversations through more organic methods of communication, like Circle and World Cafe.  On the way from Halifax I carpooled with a young woman, not more than a decade older than myself.  During our ride she asked me about what I was taking in school and when I told her Business Administration she asked me, "Why?"  It was the first time anyone had asked me that.  Most people just accepted it as a socially responsible course of education and moved on.  The worst part was, when I thought about my answer, I really had no idea why I was taking Business Administration - not a good sign!  And the more I thought about it, the more that bothered me.

I ended up being roommates with two older women - around my mom's age - that weekend.  I wish I could remember their names so that I could thank them, because they're really the ones who inspired me to follow my heart, not my head, which was so infiltrated with other peoples' opinions and expectations that I'd forgotten how to follow my own dreams.  These women spoke to me about their opportunities, or lack thereof, when they were my age; forced into adulthood, being a wife, a mother, a provider.  They wished they had the freedom that I had and they encouraged me to make the most of it.  It took them another 30 years to get to where they wanted to be at my age - to be able to listen to their hearts, follow their dreams, and live their passion.  They assured me that no matter what, if you're pursuing your passion the opportunities will present themselves.

As the weekend progressed I felt empowered and liberated by this new perspective on life.  At midnight that Saturday I sent an e-mail to the registrar's office at St. Francis Xavier University, requesting that I be transferred from the BBA program to the BA stream, majoring in Anthropology - the one course I felt a driving passion for.  

I called my mom, who is typically endlessly supportive of any choice I make.  When I told her that I was switching programs, as a mother, she was obviously concerned.  She hesitated, "Well, Allie... what kind of jobs can you get with a degree in anthropology?  I mean, what kind of salary are you going to be making?"  And although I understood where she was coming from, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment.  But I reassured her, "Mom, we've never had money and we've always been happy.  So would you rather me continue my education in the Business program and become rich and miserable?  Or would you rather me follow my passion?  Maybe I won't have much money, but I'll be happy."  She sighed and knew that my happiness was more important, though she just wanted to make sure I was secure and not suffering in the tight grip of poverty, which can cause so much stress.

Since then I've adopted the mentality that following my heart will yield the most positive results, for me, for my work, for my life, and that will help me to be the best individual I'm capable of being.  And if I'm my best me, I can be a better daughter, sister, cousin, friend, lover, employee, citizen, etc.  After transferring to Anthropology I became a more involved student - I was a student assistant and liaison for a semester, I founded and was the president of the Anthropology Students' Society for two and a half years, my grades skyrocketed, I completed two field seasons working as an archaeologist, and was invited to participate in a field season with my Thesis Professor in Panama after graduation.  Things seemed to just fall into place.

The key to this strategy, for me, is being attentive.  If I know what I want, I make sure I do everything in my power to get it.  I decided I wanted to go to grad school for journalism, so I did my research, decided on the school I wanted to attend, and began drafting my application.  I had friends help me to edit my letter of intent, so that it could be the best version possible, and I put my heart and soul into it.  

But then there are other things, decisions that aren't quite as clear, ones that don't have a definitive answer.  How could I possibly decide what to do in a situation where there is no clear choice?  I do what I now like to refer to as "putting out the feelers".  I come up with a variety of solutions to said problem.  

For instance, when I moved back to Nova Scotia after my southern adventures, I didn't know what to do.  So out went the feelers - some went to Ottawa, some stayed in New Glasgow and some went to Montreal.  I made sure to stay aware and attentive and before I knew it I had my answer: Montreal was calling me, via loud speaker!  I had 5 job interviews, 4 job offers, a free place to stay until I got on my feet, and the support of tons of my family and friends.

Now, I know it sounds easy, right?  Not so much.  I often hear the whole spiel about "luck," and while luck has a little bit to do with it, if that's what you want to call it (I prefer to call it fate), it takes a lot more hard work than that.  To tell me I'm just "so lucky" is almost insulting really - it suggests that I did nothing to achieve the experiences I've had in my life.  

I didn't come from money, I've never had anything handed to be on a silver platter or a silver spoon, and I certainly haven't surfed any coattails to get to where I am today.  So, yeah - I am insulted when people suggest that I'm lucky.  I've worked damn hard to get where I am today.  I've overcome hurdles of poverty, discrimination, stereotyping, sexism and just about any other barrier you can dream up.  I'm an underdog, and a loud, tough one at that, so don't get me wrong.  Following a passion isn't for the faint of heart - it's for the courageous, the determined, for those who are willing to sacrifice everything they've got for everything they want.

Firstly, you have to trust in yourself that you know what's best for you.  No one else knows better than you what's best for you, but sometimes our own opinion gets clouded.  We need to clear away all of the external influences and listen to our hearts.  Once you hear your inner voice and trust yourself, you'll know what path to take.

Secondly, you have to be open to change, which isn't as easy as it seems.  We all get comfortable, complacent with our current situations, by the familiar, the safe, the known.  The unknown is scary as hell and facing it confidently is a challenge!  To be truly open to change you need to be open to giving up things you've already worked hard for, in order to trade them for things that are going to make you even happier.  But often times, people are too afraid - afraid that things won't work out, afraid that they'll make a mistake or regret their decisions - to welcome change with open arms.

Third, you need to watch for the signs.  Often times these signs are right in front of us with big flashing LED signs saying, "Hey, you!  Over here!  I'm your lifelong dream and all you need to do to achieve me is forget all the rules and just do whatever is in your power to make me reality."  But we're often too busy listening to what other people have to say, or we're too concerned about what we're supposedly giving up (really though, when you think about it, what is the value of giving up something that doesn't make you happy?).  When I make a choice, or put out my "feelers", I wait for an answer, and usually it manifests in a matter of days.  Oddly enough, it's usually the path of least resistance that ends up being the most fruitful.  And although that doesn't equate to the path being easy, it does mean it's the most obvious answer to get you from where you are to where you want to be.  It's almost like the path chooses you and it's up to you to take on the challenge, dodging the road blocks and pot holes along the way.

You can't just sit there, think about what you want, do nothing, and expect to get results.  Life has never, and will never, work that way.  The only way to make progress is to take action, responsibility, and stewardship over your own life.

After living my life like this for the past 7 years, I'm still making progress and working toward my goals. Life hasn't always been rainbows and puppy dogs, but I've always been able to look at my life and think, "I'm pursuing my life genuinely and passionately."  And that feels pretty good.

While it wasn't so common for me to find people at the tender age of 19 who shared in my perspective, it seems to be getting easier now that I'm getting older.  So maybe I wasn't drinking the punch after all.  Maybe there's actually something to this.  Maybe everyone else is drinking that proverbial punch, sentencing themselves to a life of masqueraded misery.

I guess I'll never really know.  I can only know what works best for me and keep working toward that inner happy that I can feel radiating from inside of me.  I seem to have figured out the equation to the meaning of my own life.  What's your equation?

Talking to Myself

For some people, internal dialogue is an effective way of working through problems.  For me it does quite the opposite, especially when it comes to interpersonal relationships, the future, and the unknown.  

I've always been pretty good at staying in the present, but it seems sometimes, the more I invest myself emotionally, the more I want to know what the future holds.  I want to have a plan.  I want to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  And most importantly, I want to know the thoughts of the other person that I should be having this conversation with, instead of myself.

Instead, I chase myself around inside my head - speculating, wondering, worrying.  One thought leads to another and another.  Before I know it, I've essentially kicked my own ass through internal debate, in the worst way possible.

"What's the point anyway?" I keep asking myself.  Why bother getting into these downward spiralling discussions with myself when there's no way for me to predict the future or read minds.  All I accomplish is getting myself sufficiently worked up so that I feel like a hot pile of rotting garbage - or actually a sad, hot pile of rotting garbage.  It's not productive.  I don't end up with any more answers or insights than when I started.  I usually end up shedding a few tears.  And I almost always end up exhausted and migraine-ridden.  

So what's the solution when the only person you want to talk to has an addiction to internalizing everything?  How can I put my bleeding heart on the table, when that table sometimes feels like cold stainless steel?  And why bother if the only feedback I've historically gotten had been vague and almost diplomatic in delivery?

It's odd to feel guilty about wanting to talk to someone about how you feel, but that's where I am.  I don't want to freak him out, or worry him, or put him out of his comfort zone.  But where I do draw the line between what's best for him, what's best for us, and what's best for me?

Maybe it's just the 9 hour bus ride with no heat, followed by a night of too-little sleep, interrupted by house guests, followed by 8 hours of work talking... or maybe I'm onto something.  I guess I'll debate with myself a little bit more and get back to you on that.