Throw! Up

The first time I went to a slam with the Throw! Poetry Collective here in Montreal, was way back in October. I enjoyed it as much as I do all slams, noting with strange, confused curiosity, that for a giant, artsy city, we had a small spoken word following. There were 50 people or less. I was happy about this for a few reasons.
I've got a head full of dreams, and in my own imagination, I saw myself getting involved in the scene, learning everything I could, helping to bring this powerful form of poetry to the masses, changing lives along the way, including my own. The second reason a small poetry community would be nice is because, should I decide to chase the dream and perform a poem of my own, it would be LESS petrifying to do it with a small audience.

Friends, last night was the night. My spoken word debut.

I had decided I was going to do it or die (or puke or faint) trying. Possibly the second two, followed by the first. I cranked the music in my room a few hours before and tried to put the words into memory as much as I could before I had a chance to forget them. Half because I hoped the music would disguise the sound of my words (I'm bashful, so naturally when practicing to recite to a room full of people, I couldn't have ANYONE HEARING ME) and half because I wanted to do it with distractions, hoping I would nail it later on, no matter what.

Hustling through the cold to the Divan Orange, I wasn't sure whether I was speaking too much, or not enough but.... I was already nervous. I was psyched up. I've been on stages at random intervals for my entire life. I sang "Hey Jude" in my highschool variety show, and I'm a karaoke addict. I've acted, I've hosted stuff. I'm no stranger to the dream and the reality of being on a stage.

But when I walked into the hustle and bustle of the bar, a new kind of panic set in. People. Lots of people.  People as far as the eye could see. No vacant chairs at the tables, no seats at the bar. Standing room in the back, filling up fast. There was me with my starry eyed dreams of poetic power and grace quickly turning into horrible nightmares. Panic set in. I asked the people at the sign in whether or not one of the four open mic spots was open.

There was one left. Against the apprehension tugging at my heart strings, my nerves stumbling around like a drunk in the dark, I signed up, figuring fate had wanted it to be mine. Then I stood around fretting for the next 20 minutes, with my mouth running dry, clutching my red writing notebook, feeling as though it was a bible and I was in desperate need of saving. I locked myself in the bathroom for 5 minutes to take a nervous pee and say my poem out loud one last time. I felt the full effect of 8-Mile pounding on my shoulders. My moment was coming, faster than I was sure I was ready for.

When the MC starting his opening spiel, I started up to the front of the stage to get ready to go. The place was so full by then, the path to the stage was filled with people sitting cross legged on the floor. I had to step around them, a human tire football drill. When I finally was called, second in the open mic line up... I walked up on stage, and out of my body.

Does anyone remember at the summer Olympics when Usain Bolt won the 200m dash and then borrowed one of the photographer's cameras and started taking pictures of his worldview? Those photos are pretty much what the crowded bar looked like to me. Faces and faces and faces and faces and faces and faces and my pulse like a rabbit having a heart attack and faces.

 I told them it was my first time performing ever, and the crowd was really warm and supportive. Guess what? I still thought I was going to throw up.

"Wow," I said, or something equally eloquent, how I do, "there are so many of you, I wish I'd just prepared a haiku."

The lights were bright and I proceed to spit whatever words I thought I had memorized. I honestly couldn't tell you if I messed up my poem or if I got all the words right. If I sped up in the right parts, slowed in the wrong ones, paused when I needed to, stopped dead, or anything. All I remember is the shaking. Trembling, through my torso, into my legs like a bone shattering earthquake. My body trembled. My hands clutching my notebook trembled. My breath between sentences trembled, audibly into the microphone. I bet my soul was trembling too, holding on with its last, failing muscles to keep me upright, breathing, gasping these words I had written for the ears of others.

When I finished, I thanked them and hurried off the stage, fast as I could. I heard the MC say, "Give it up for Riley!" And the cheers made me weak in the knees. I watched the other two open mic-ers go without issue. I don't when the trembling STOPPED, but eventually it did. I slipped back into the crowd, to watch the slammers with my friends, who hugged me and congratulated me.

A girl who was leaving stopped and said she had loved my poem and that I had made her cry. And that.... made me blush. And realize that I really need to work on making eye contact with strangers. I have the social skills of Forrest Gump, except I'm less charming.

I guess one thing is for certain, I have plenty to work on. Poetry. Delivery. Social skillery.

Resolutions

You should read this article.

It really made me think about investing some time in my skills, myself, humanity and all that jazz.

So, in advance, I've been thinking about all the things 2013 might hold, and what I can do to resist or facilitate that change, to bring it about. I've been thinking a lot about my "resolutions" or whatever you make that you may or may not keep and this far I've come with a tiny list.

RESOLUTIONS (but the kind I really plan on keeping, REALLY)

1. Dedicate more time to art & true to life, wholesome pursuits.
Fuck you Facebook, I'm going to write/play piano/paint/draw/take photos/make something beautiful or painful/bake something/read abook Maybe I'll tweet about it later so you don't feel abandoned.

2. Try new stuff.
I was thinking about sports when I wrote this, like taking boxing classes. But this applies to everything. So often I'm afraid to walk into a new cafe, a class, wear something because it's "not what I normally try on." Ridiculous. I'm scrapping that draft and I'm going to do it. All of it!

3. Be less afraid in general. (You're not that person anymore.)
The conversations happened in a couple of different bars at a couple of different times, but they all made me arrive at this conclusion. The 20s thus far seem to be the Renaissance of life. (We'll see what I think 8 years from now...) Everything begins to change. Throughout your twenties, you evolve, REALLY REALLY evolve for the first time. The work highschool and puberty initiated on your body transcends to you as a person. You become more, you begin to learn more what you like, what don't like, what you stand for. You develop your talent and your personality, your preferences. Sometimes, but mostly not, you get backing from the Medici family. By the time you're 30, society kind of wants to know what it is you want from life, and you're hoping to have a pretty good answer yourself.

The Renaissance was a time of beautiful change, innovation, enlightenment. I want all of those things for myself. I am governed by baggage and fear that happened to a person who I really am not anymore. I'm not the sheltered, lonely self loathing kid of yesterday, I've evolved beyond that. I know it's tough to break the chains of your mind, but if wrestling with anxiety for years has taught me anything it's that if you hold tight and you carry the hell on, you're going to get over it in the end, and be a better person for.

I will no long try and avoid eye contact with strangers, or step aside when I think people are trying to chat up my friends, because maybe, they wanted to talk to me too. I will no longer discount myself  or beat myself up as less smart or less good at something. I will do these things. (Or at least I'm gonna try, damnit.) It is not wrong to want something, or to think you deserve something, especially if that something is respect or happiness. That's human, people.

4. Speak more French.
Be less shy about pronunciation and grammar and give it a shot, because that's how I'm gonna learn.

....There's more of these but I have to go try and clean my room and study, because we're LEAVING WEDNESDAY for Christmas Holidays after my LAST EXAM which is TOMORROW! I CAN'T STOP WRITING IN CAPITALS. ALLATHEM THANGS.

P.S. Had a great study session/dinner with some friends tonight. There's nothing like talking to people who are also writers, and I'm putting this here because I want to remember the feeling of sitting in an Irish Pub in Montreal on a mild snowy night with a brainful of British Literature, a glass full of beer, holding a discussion about Tolstoy vs. Rowling, modern literature, writing and passion, laughing about the devastating effect of hormones. Happy.

Vinyl and SOUL

I’ve been seeking a creative outlet. There’s this need under my skin to get really hands on with some kind of project. Literally, almost anything has entered my mind at least once: from sewing, cooking/baking, writing, refurbishing old furniture... You name it, I’ve probably been considering it.

Blame Nylon. The magazine, not the material. The January 2012 issue has a feature about fashion inspired by the 60s and showcased a TON of 20-something talent. Whenever I see young people accomplishing stuff, my initial reaction is: “COOL!” Followed by a introspection as to what I’ve been doing with myself and my life.

With work, fitness and random commitments (plus the fact that the internet is a black hole that sucks up ALL OF MY TIME) it’s easy to neglect passion and creativity by plugging in.

If there were post-New Years resolutions to be made I would add ‘spend more time with love and art, and less time with Stumble’ to the list, as well as calling myself on my own bullshit. That’s a blog for a different day.
To get creative, I’ve decided to try and paint up a pair of my old canvas high tops, so that will be probably end up posted here. Sometime soon?
I'm also looking for volunteer positions right now, trying to write some blogs for LGBT Youthline, get involved, be informed. I want to take care of the world.

Today, when I was shopping for shoe painting supplies (and taking Kacy shopping for her vegan food stuffs) I was feeling retro. A handful of days ago I inherited a pile of my dad's old vinyls, and I've been listening to Sly and the Family Stone's Greatest hits, daily.
I have a new love, and it's name is vinyl and SOUL. (Ooh. That was the title of the post. Now it's like we're in a bad movie where they use the title in a really dramatic manner. If you've ever seen Face/Off... You know what I mean.) Oh, right. Then I dressed like a hippie for kicks. More 70s than 60s, but it's all good baby.



Oh jeez. Put that away before you hurt somebody.

Vest: Thrifted
Shirt: Thrifted
Pants: Thr-- I'm seeing a pattern here...
Bag: Matt and Nat
Boots: Aldo (On SALE!)

The only thing I have to say about this outfit is that I would like MORE. Next time I'll add a necklace, a couple rings, some sunglasses or something. For now, simplicity works. Also: those pants didn't fit a couple of months ago. SCORE.

12345678910 11 12-- RESET

I worked out for the 1st time this year. I didn't WANT to really, but by the end, was glad I went.

Getting onto the wagon after the holidays (a la resolutions or OTHERWISE) is kind of easy to START, but difficult to maintain. You get into this ass kicking mentality, but by the end of the month the gym is empty again, you feel slack and winter is crushing your drive to get up and GO.

Personally, in addition to this, I'm feeling a little disheartened because of the weight I gained over the holidays. (Self control? What does THAT mean?) But what's done is done, and I'm ready to pick it up and relearn and start again. Refocus. Thinking of summer. Shorts and bathing suits and new tattoos and the PRIDE festival and the beach. It's more fun than the reality that is the FREEZING COLD OUTDOORS.

I feel like I've been out of routine forever, but it's only been ONE week.

Today's Workout

FLASHBACK: To Jill in her recent CPR certification course where the trainer tells her and the rest of the class that if a heart is going 180+ beats per minute (BPM), it's going go fast there's a possibility you can give yourself a heart attack.

CUT TO: Me running 7.5 miles per hour for 30 seconds on the treadmill. I have never run faster than this. EVER. People could be chasing me with an axe and I'd be more sluggish. This is officially an interval sprint.
Jill and I have been using intervals (alternating between running HARD and running less hard) in our cardio to keep ourselves challenged.

CLOSE UP: The heart rate monitor on my wrist, showing a solid 181 BPM. Surrounded by old people with white hair and I'm about to collapse and be the one to have an exercise induced heart failure.

Today, I almost gave myself a heart attack. Good start to the workout year. Lesson of the day: moderation.

Retrospect

THINGS I DID IN 2011: Started this blog! Survived one (and many subsequent) hot yoga classes. Ran my first 5K. Ran my first 10K, and ended up published in a magazine because of it! Got a new tattoo. Volunteered at PRIDE in Toronto. Got a new job (or two), including my first paid writing position. Graduated from college with honours. Discovered what direction I think my life is heading. Wrote a novel in a month. Attended my first poetry slam. Got punched in the heart and made it through. Visited California. Karaoke'd my heart out in front of a roomful of people. Learned the art of waking up at 5AM for early morning shifts. Dressed with a little more flair. J'ai travaillé sur mon Francais. Discovered my hometown doesn't totally suck. I became legal EVERYWHERE. I feel as though I grew by the bucketful, which is awesome...

But that was last year. Out with the old and in with the new, and what have you.

My resolutions are pretty simple, but they're easier said than done.

• Stop comparing myself to other people.
This one is nearly impossible, and I know that. However, if I want to be a better person, one of the things I need to do is stop getting upset for things that are out of my control. I need to realize that I am an individual, and so are the ones I love, and what makes them different doesn't make them better or me worse. I have a really hard time with this sometimes and it punches my confidence right in the gut.

• Continue my fitness regime, and taking care of myself.
Being honest, yeah, this past week, I've fallen off the wagon a little. But I'm more determined now to get back on. To make time for fitness which not only stabilizes my body, but my brain. To make it a priority instead of a burden. Choosing better foods and really LISTENING to myself and my feelings also fall under this category. If I want to go out, I can go out. If I want to sleep (and I have the time) sleep I shall! That kind of thing.

That's pretty much it. Nothing sweeping or crazy. I just want this to be the year when I feel like most of the pieces come together. When I get out and RUN FOR IT. Seriously. The year when I stop being the thing that is holding me back the most.

I have a bunch of stuff that I would LOVE to do this year, but that's a list for another blog.