I have a few friends that are good at everything.  Everything.  Whatever they put their mind to, whether it be playing music, fly fishing, learning languages, making money, starting companies, cooking – you name it – they can do.  And not only do, not just do well, but excel.  Like, master said thing have a regular spot on a local CBC show talking about said thing.  I am really not exaggerating about that last part.

The reason they are so good at things is simply this: They never thought they couldn’t.

Often in moments of self doubt where I really wish I could do X but wasn’t certain I could, I’ve thought about those friends and really wish I had their skill to think like that.

But here’s the revelation that I just had, I already do think like that.

It’s crazy that I never thought about this before but there are certain things – such as sewing elaborate Halloween costumes for my nephew – that I do effortlessly, because it never crossed my mind that I couldn’t.  I’ve never considered that I couldn’t do those things simply because I never thought I couldn’t, and because I never doubted that I couldn’t why would I question that I couldn’t? (If that makes sense).

And here’s the second crazy revelation on that topic, I also know that there are things that I never imagined I could do, that I was able to accomplish by adjusting my thinking. For example, I would always say that I couldn’t run unless I was chasing a bus, but in the last few years I have run five 10 km races. Similarly, the suggestion of traveling with anything less than a room-sized suitcase that earned a heavy sticker would cause me to laugh hysterically, but I recently went to Europe for two weeks with nothing more than carryon.

So move over self-doubt and watch out world, I know I can.

I don’t usually have conversations with my neighbours when I’m traveling.  That’s probably because I love the fact that for me, travel time seems to be this magical “get shit done” period where I can write, knit or read.  

However, on my recent flight from Paris to Toronto, I was seated beside an older woman who was a talker.  Within two minutes she had out her iPhone and was showing me pictures of her dog.  At first I was panicking a bit, wondering if this was what the next 6 hours was going to be like, but then I actually started to enjoy the conversation, or more accurately her stories.  This was not a two-way dialogue, but a monologue.

She lived on  Galliano Island, and it sounds like she had lived an interesting life.  She was married with no children, and lived on the ocean.  She had a strong desire to learn new things, and she loved to paint, knit and make furniture.

There were a few stories she told me that were definitely interesting and worth capturing.

After she graduated from university her dad gave her and her siblings $500 and a one-way ticket to anywhere in the world.  The deal was that they had to stay there for a year and pay their own way back. The money he started them off covered their first two months. After that they were on their own.  She chose to go to Barcelona, where she taught English, learned Spanish, and hooked up with some guy who was the anchorman on the local television station.

Her and her partner travel, a lot.  They are also retired.  She spoke a lot about how they saved cash to do the traveling they wanted to do.  She said how they invited friends over for lunch, not dinner.  Instead of buying Christmas gifts, she made cookies. And apparently they have a 30-day rule for new purchases.  Essentially, if they saw something they liked, they had to wait 30 days before buying that item, that is provided it was still there or they still wanted it.

She also talked about how she used to spend time with her mom.  Like me, she lived away from her parents.  Only in this case, she lived in Toronto and they lived in BC.  To avoid the trap of spending all of her free time and vacation money heading back to visit her parents (a trap I know well) she started a tradition where she would take her mom to Rome for a week.  It would be just them.  They would go in January after the Christmas rush and when the half price sales were on.  And she would pay for the trip.

Her stories did give me a lot to think about.  I’d love to save up some cash to take mom away for a week.  Add that to the list of things to do!

Through curling she has made some amazing friends.  Close friends.  Friends who are there for you in the tough times.  Friends you can count on whether you need someone to laugh with, a shoulder to cry on, or a van to help you move.  Friends who travel the world together.  Over the years these women have become my adopted aunties. 

So when I learned that they were planning on renting a villa in Provence for the month of September, I jumped at the opportunity to visit.  Imagine, visiting my mom outside of Ajax!

It was an amazing week of good food, laughter, wine and beautiful scenery.  We visited medieval towns perched on top of hills, went shopping in markets that snaked their way through small villages. We had hors d’ouevres and cocktails on the patio and relaxed poolside with a book.

But what I loved most about the week was the stories.

A friend from high school came with me.  She is one of those people who is easy to make laugh, and when she laughs, it’s the type of genuine, hearty belly laugh that makes you feel like you are the funniest person on the planet.  Needless to say, the ladies LOVED telling her stories.

And they did.  I heard stories from my mom’s friend Sue, who she’s known since kindergarten.  Sue told many a tale about her and mom heading to scandalous parties in High School and how they told everyone they couldn’t swim so they could stay in the shallow end during gym class.

Helen told some amazing tales about re-entering the workforce after being a stay at home mom.  She told a story about her first day in homicide where she used a computer for the first time, and couldn’t understand that something she wrote on her machine could be printed out across the room.  She told stories of having to transcribe interviews and having to write down words people said that she never could have imagined saying.

And of course, we heard many a curling tale.  We heard stories about the bonspiels, people they used to curl with, and the traveling they had done.  The best stories there were of the various “entertainment” shows that they put on for their bonspiel.  Everything from Frank Sinatra, Titanic, Babes on Broadway, a Chorus Line, and Menopause the Musical – all performed with irreverence and flare.  Shit, they’ve done some amazing things.

It was also good to get a glimpse into what my future could be like.  I love the thought of heading to a house for a month with some of my close friends and gorging on cheese.

That pretty much was a metaphor for my life.  I have talked for years about going traveling, but for one reason or another, hadn’t really made it happen.  Friends of mine are intrepid travelers.  People who head to some distant country at the drop of a hat, and make one big trip a year. Then there are my cousins who I live with.  They quit their jobs every so often and travel the world for a couple of years.  They are already planning their next year off starting March 2013. 

I do have the desire to travel.  There are so many places I would love to see. When I have traveled abroad, the kick has been for work, or for friend’s weddings. The challenge is that I don’t tent to be the initiator.  I’m not the one to make the trip happen.  I don’t know if this is because I’m uncomfortable with the thought of traveling on my own, or if it’s money stress, or moving outside my comfort zone. It probably has a bit to do with the fact that I spend all of my vacation time and extra money heading to Ontario to visit with my family. Of course they would never come out to visit me, not that I’m exceptionally bitter about that or anything (okay, maybe just a bit).  There’s probably a bit of “do I really deserve a vacation?” “Shouldn’t I be going home instead?” “Is this the best use of my money?” types of conversations going on in my head.

So I have to say, I’m a little impressed with myself that I just got back from two weeks in Europe.

There was still the external kick – that being that my mom and her crazy curling ladies were in Provance for the month – but I organized it, got a friend from Toronto to come, planned the itinerary and did it.  We went to Provence, Paris and Copenhagen, somewhere that I have been wanting to visit for a while now.

Planning this trip was a catalyst to sort out a few things I have been meaning too.  I finally sorted my banking, and opened an account with a credit union. That had been causing me a big ball of stress, so it was awesome to get that finished.  I finished sewing a bag to take with me that I had started the year before, but got stuck and couldn’t go any further.  I needed a bag to take with me and nothing I saw compared to the one I was making, so I finished it.

Traveling also got me over a few fears.  Sure I don’t know how to use a phone in Europe, but I do have skype on my iPhone.  I was able to find accommodation, feed myself, get around cities and I lived to tell the tale.

It wasn’t without stress.  Booking a plane ticket and planning the trip was so stressful that I came down with Shingles (no lie) but it is good every once in a while to get out of your comfort zone and do something that makes you nervous.

Most importantly I proved to myself that I could do it.

To mark this occasion, it seems only appropriate to recite a phrase that my friend Lisa & I have been using as we’ve knocked things off our to do list: “I’m doing it!”

It’s not a tradition in our household to keep cookies or their ilk around, which of course just aggravated that particular craving.  So when i lamented my predicament to my cousin, he started to look around the kitchen for sweets left forgotten.

Above the fridge, in a vintage peak frean’s cookie tin he struck the payload.  There in the tin was a piece of my mother’s fruitcake.

There’s one thing i know about fruitcake and it’s this: it lasts forever.

When i was a kid i did not like my mom’s fruitcake.  I always took a pass.  Maybe it was the booze or the high concentration or candied fruit but it was not something i would elect to eat.  The year i actually started to like fruitcake (which was really no more than five years ago) i knew i must be becoming an adult.  Instead of making fruitcake jokes I started actually requesting some to take back to Vancouver with me.

So, when my cousin found a piece of the forgotten loaf, my answer was yes please!  And even though it’s what, nine months old now, it is still good.

And since i’m into preserving, that’s something i now respect, rather than cringe at.

I’ve always loved the sound of the cello, and wanted to learn how to play.  So one day in January, I rented one.

I’m learning how to play and although I am not good by any stretch of the imagination, it is making me ridiculously happy.  My goal is to be good enough that I can play in a bad orchestra.

The plan is to rent it for a year and see how I do and whether I want to purchase my own.  And I have a cello instructor now to help me on the journey.  She walked by my house one day rolling her cello behind her as I screamed out “do you give lessons?” She does and she lives six doors down.  I’m thinking that’s fate.

While on this path of learning the cello, I am discovering that a lot of the things that make you a better cello player, are actually good life lessons. Including:

1. Commit to it: You can’t be half committed to play well.  You need to jump in, giv’er, commit and it will sound better.

2. Relax: If you’re tense, your sound won’t be good.  The thing that is ironic about this is that you’re forcing your hand into a really awkward, unintuitive position and then need to relax.

3. Be in the moment:  You can’t think too far in advance or you’ll mess up where you are. Just take it one note at a time.

4. Practice: You can’t expect to be any good if you don’t practice.

5. Drink wine: Helps with the number two lesson.

6. Watch your timing: I have a lot of problem with time.  I do not have a well developed sense of time, yet with music you have to do things in the time that is laid out, otherwise it doesn’t sound right.  It will be interesting to note if this will lead to me having a greater sense of time.

7. Don’t be cocky:  The moment I start to think, “I’ve got this.  I’m awesome!” is the moment before an epic #fail. Playing well means being humble.

8. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes:  Probably the best life lesson that comes from the cello is this one, don’t be afraid to make mistakes.  When you’re learning something (or in life in general) it is unreasonable to expect perfection.  So when you make a mistake, that’s okay.  Own it. Forget about it and move on.

So there you go. The other thing I guess I’m learning is that boys like it when you say you’re learning to play the cello.  Apparently it’s unusual yet compelling.

Okay, hanging out is probably not the best description.  Hanging out gives off the impression that it was a causal, relaxed event like having a beer with a friend.  Hanging out implies that there were lots of laughs and comfortable silence.  That was not my experience.  Sure there were a few laughs, but that is because I tend to face difficult situations with inappropriate jokes.  It’s what I do.  No, the experience was more like being stuffed into the guts of a mechanical glowing donut while rationalizing to myself that there’s no need to panic. 

Right.  No need to panic.

They did about 6 scans that lasted between 3 & 6 minutes each.  It was loud, even with the earplugs.  When the magnet was on it sounded like I was at some techno beat with a sporadic DJ.  When they weren’t actively scanning, there was a constant rotating disk sound rumbling in the background that totally brought to mind the movie Contact with the constant “thump, thump, thump” of the spaceship thing that Jodie Foster got to navigate.

The weirdest part was that when the magnet was on, my feet had the simultaneous feeling like they were levitating and being crushed.  It was such a strange sensation.  And I don’t know if that was an effect of the magnet, or the effect of me trying so hard to be still while obviously clenching all of my muscles, but it was strange.

Thankfully I had an eye mask and enough self-awareness to keep my eyes closed.  I passed the time trying to focus on my breath, trying not to move and trying not to panic.  I tried to keep my thoughts on happy things – thinking about my niece and nephew – and not a spiral into too much negative self-reflection. I also spent the time thinking I really want to learn how to meditate.

When it was all over I felt shaky and shaken.

And now, we wait.

Thump, thump, thump, thump…

It’s as if my change is taunting me. Reminding me that there is a world of places out there to explore. It’s urging me to travel.

I’m slightly tired.

Also, notice that laundry is not on that list.  I should do that.

In days to come, grandparents will be telling my story to undisciplined young children to scare the shit out of them.  “Gather around children, and let me tell you the story about the pitfalls of counting chickens…”

The reason for all the gloom?  Being unemployed.  For far too long.

It has been a taxing situation.  Having time but no money.  Having no schedule, and no one to be accountable to. Having no work to identify with has left me feeling off kilter and directionless.  And not using my brain has left me feeling sluggish.

But I thought all of that was coming to an end.

There were a few jobs I applied to that I thought I had a very strong chance of getting.  So strong that I started to get excited.  I planned my summer vacation.  Brainstormed projects to implement.  I thought about how to organize projects.  I felt direction.  Saw the light at the end of the tunnel.  Counted my chickens before they were hatched.

Which was my bad.

Fast forward a few days and I haven’t heard about any of those positions.  Radio silence.  Which has left me feeling even less confident and more discouraged than before.  A reality I didn’t think possible.

This was all hammered home while over at a friends place the other night.  There were a group of us and one had asked me “how are things on the job finding front?”  An innocent enough question but it’s a question I hate.  I proceeded to talk about some of these positions, the radio silence, and the whole time trying to sound like I wasn’t as pathetic as I felt.  I could almost hear them thinking “poor Amanda” and “That would NEVER be me.”

The whole unemployment thing has left me wondering if now is the time to move back to Toronto.  I probably would have done so already if the thought of dragging my shit across the Rocky Mountains and over the prairies wasn’t so insurmountable.  And the kicker is that I don’t have the money to do that right now.

So what’s a girl to do except begrudgingly hold her head up, hope for a redeeming turn of events, and make an omelet.