23 before 24.

This is in progress of being written and re-written, but I couldn't resist. It's still being edited, I even changed some between the typed version and the photo below, but hey, it's my list and it ain't my birthday yet, so I can do WHATEVER I WANT.

 

 My 23 before 24 list. (Thus far.)

1. Visit a new city!

2. Make proper macarons.

3. Get another tattoo.

4. Run 10K. (Again!)

5. Accept a compliment gracefully.

6. Read 12 books.

7. Make more time for dancing. 

8. Send letters to people I love.

9. Maintain a fitness routine for 3 months.

10. Find my signature beer/cocktail.

11. Learn how to use dad's SLR camera.

12. GO HIKING!

13. Learn "hello" and "I love you" in 3 more languages. (Bonus: Learn simple Russian phrases to talk to Babcia.)

14. Shoot a blog video for Bite Club.

15. Finish a third slam poem, for a full set, just in case...

16. Surprise someone!

17. Ask someone out. (Bonus points: in person. Forget texting and Facebook.)

18. Drag out on Halloween.
19. Actually print off and frame some of the photos I've taken. 

20. Learn things about latte art. (Like, oh, I dunno, how to do it.)

21. Stay out all night, until the sun comes up, because it sounds like a movie or a book or a song, and who knows how long it will be before you can't do it anymore?

22. Get rid of some old stuff.

23. Make a 24 before 25. (Never quit striving!)

Fails.

Bek took me to an amazing delicious dinner out tonight in honour of my upcoming 23rd birthday. On the bus back to the apartment, she asked me if I was ready to be twenty-three and I think at first I snorted and then sat back and thought about it. "I feel failurely." Which is not BEING a failure, I'd just like to clarify, it's being fail-ish. Which is like being in transition. Now I realize you don't get to have your life de-rubixed by the age of twenty-three, hell, people never really SOLVE life, they just deal with it as it goes. I can't help but feel...lacking.

Bek said you can't fail until you give an answer, and if you're looking for answers, then technically, failure is impossible because you're still searching. I said, "I just feel failish. Not just this whole school career dilemma. Just. Everything."

"Like what?"

At the time I couldn't think of any like whats, but now it's 5AM and I'm typing this and it's all coming into place. Like whats: The weird stumbling drunken two steps forward, one step back that is my love life. My weird relationship with food, which, although much better than previously, is still pretty manic in terms of "yo-yo" weight gain. This links into my weird relationship with my body. My place in the world. My sense of style-- if I have one. The fact I haven't been to a dentist in a long time. The fact that I've had a credit card for more than 3 years and only RECENTLY figured out just how they work. I don't know. Maybe we need to account for the small victories but I'm not feeling positive enough to pull that off right now, so I'll leave that for another day. BUT.

I realize compared to some people, I more or less have my shit together, at least emotionally. (Hellooo volunteer coordinating) but I feel like it's all this shallow surface stuff. I can cook a decent (hell, maybe even an amazing) meal, I know job interview protocol, some rules of social etiquette. But...it's not enough.

So I'm going to do some soul and goal searching and come up with a "23 before 24" list. Maybe I'll post it. Who knows. 

Crying in public is as weird as it sounds.

I cried today while making "Pros and Cons" lists, one for staying in university, and one for jumping ship and heading to pastry school. I was sitting in the park near my flat, under a tree, writing them, listening to "Make the Money" by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis and I just. started. crying.

In the fucking park.

I realized that no matter what choice I make, it's not going to be an easy one. That staying in Montreal could now just be as difficult as leaving it. This fork in the road of my life is so distinct that it feels like ONE or the OTHER right now. And I know no matter what I do, I'll walk down the path and look back over my shoulder every step of the way, wondering about my choices.What's worse? If I stay here, I'll wonder if I stayed because it was the easier option. If I go, I'll wonder if I bailed out of fear.

I've been talking to everyone. And I mean everyone. I'm one 'elderly-wise-black-lady-on-a-bench-at-a-bus-stop' short from collecting the opinions of the entire world on the matter. Not usually something I do, because I'm easily swayed by people and I want to have a clear head. But this is different, everyone has starkly different beliefs on the matter.

When I finally told my parents I was thinking about culinary school, I was expecting some sort of reasonable response from the two of them. "A degree is important in today's world" or "Think about the money." My dad has always said he could see me as a professor, so I thought at least he would disapprove of the notion of it. And my mom-- always supportive, but usually supplying caution-- you know what my mom said? She picked this moment in life to turn into a sparkly fairy mom mother and whipped out the Disney classic: "follow your heart. Do what makes you happy."

Writing and baking both make me happy. I am never going to lose my taste for literature or fresh baked anything, let's be honest. On Skype with Jill the other day, she said I've been writing longer than I've been baking, but  thinking back, I've been doing BOTH to express myself since I was pretty damn young.

I remember when I was a kid-- god knows how old-- I had a major crush on my neighbor, Rob. He was older and super cute and really nice to me, when the other kids picked on me for being roly poly. But I would have rather smothered to death in a vat of buttercream than admit it out loud. Hell, I didn't even admit it to myself at the time, because that's how stupid I felt it was. What did I do? I baked that boy a fucking cake from scratch on his birthday. To my memory, my first EVER cake from scratch. A two layer vanilla cake in heart shaped pans with vanilla frosting and green lettering on top because that shit was Rob's favourite colour. 

The only reason I never thought of baking as a career option before was because I thought I wasn't good enough at it. I thought writing was the only skill I had in my toolbox worthy of being turned into a job. The only way I could ever succeed was by forming words into sentences into paragraphs into thoughts.

And I was okay with that, because I loved writing. I still love writing. Writing is my everyday. I love poetry and blogs and articles, and I love taking a confused mess and editing it to be clean and concise, while keeping someone's voice fully intact. What my clumsy mouth fails to say, my words express with pitch perfect clarity on paper. I love reading. I love learning hidden meanings and history. Suddenly though, I have another road. I have another choice that I never saw before and I have no clear way to turn. All I want is to make the right choice. But there are no wrong answers here, so how do you pick?

Follow your heart. Do what makes you happy?

I am not happy right now. Indecision sucks.