Being one dimensional amidst an existential crisis

Whether I can truly put into words what I want to say remains to be seen (or read). I have written before about the mind-fuck that I call Surfing the Timeline and my slight obsession with the past, present and future from the perspective that I am now existing where an entirely different world was, yet on the same soil, and no doubt where another will be. 

I think about these things constantly, and more so when I am questioning where I am, and where I want to be. Right now I am wondering what the next step is, feeling pretty unfulfilled and unchallenged in my routine day-to-day, totally fulfilled in my social day-to-day and with the knowledge that it could change in a heartbeat as it has so many times before. 

Social media binds us. We criticize it and yet can't stay away from it. We wonder to ourselves how we existed without the ability to immediately contact anyone and yet we did. As did our parents who likely looked at us rushing to the telephone straight after school to call the friends we had just spent the day with, wondering how they coped with even less ability to connect. We feel a need to share information immediately and often things that are quite trivial. We "check in" EVERYWHERE, we upload pictures of EVERYTHING, we HASH-FUCKING-TAG without any thought as to why #'s were created in the first place. We blog.....thinking that the world truly is interested in what we have to say. We read articles about how one-dimensional this all is, that it creates depression and is an indication of how lonely people are, how self-centred we have become, and how the world we see online is so very far from the one we live in. 

But what if we just forgot about all of that for one moment? What if we let the self-indulgence be that, the instant gratification be instant. What if the "like"s of the instant uploads aren't that different to the joy we felt when we went to collect our spool of photos that took 1-hour to be developed? 

Imagine if we could surf someones timeline, who lived 500 years ago, and see what they posted? What a gift it may be to get an insight into their life. I can't do it for my dad, or anyone before him. I sure would like to. I can't do it for my sister, but given the notion that once it's out there, it's out there means that in 500 years someone may just surf mine. And they may get a glimpse into my one-dimensional (and pretty kinda happy) life. And because I won't have children, or grandchildren or great-grandchildren I may just be remembered. I often take my dogs through the cemetery and there are really old tombstones, some with the writing so weathered that you have no idea who they belong to. I read the names and the dates, and calculate how old they were in my head, and I wonder what their life was like; whether someone thinks about them today. Imagine if I could surf their timeline.

Pappa, can you hear me?

My father would have been 83 years old today. I wonder what it would would feel like to have an 83 year old parent at 40. I wonder what he would think of me now?

My sister and I used to laugh hysterically at the horrified reactions when we told people that inflation killed him. I come from a family that laughs; inappropriately; at everything. My father had a fatal heart attack two days after my 12th birthday while doing the grocery shopping. My mom was on call and at home because in those days all you had was a beeper and needed to be near the telephone in case there was an emergency at the hospital. It was the final week of the school year and my dad took my sister and me to get food for our respective end of year parties. He collapsed somewhere between the chips and flour and by the time I stopped screaming he was dead. In later years we would tell people that he took one look at the prices and, well here I am wondering about that 83 year old.

I remember little about the 12 years and 1 day that we spent together. Unlike many I have almost no memories at all before my father died, reasons for which shall be left to another blog post. It's like he didn't exist at all and what I do remember are because of a photo or something my mother told me. Essentially I grew up in a single parent household though those that know me well could argue even that point. But for all the craziness of my life, I am OK with this fact. I often say that given the choice I would have things no different. I say this from a spiritual belief that it was agreed to contractually in an earlier existence (yet more to be left to another blog post) and from a place of acceptance that this specific incident shaped me into the person that I am today.

I often wonder though what he would think of the choices I have made, my successes and failings. What kind of relationship would we have had? What would he think of cell phones and the internet? He loved Hill Street Blues, what would he like today? He grew up with Boxers and introduced me to my first of 5. Would he still be married to my mother? 

I like to think that despite not truly knowing him these thoughts still connect me to him and through me a piece of him still exists. One would agree just by looking at his photos. 

Happy Birthday Iosy (Joss); wherever you are. 

The two photos behind my dad hang in my office today!

Oh Canada!

 

This week marked the culmination of a part of our journey and a start to life as Canadian citizens. People have often asked "Why Canada?", and the answer is simple and yet difficult to explain. I visited Canada for the first time in 1992 on a trip around North America. I landed at Pearson in Toronto and felt like I had come home; it is truly unexplainable. I immediately felt like I belonged here and decided that one day I would. For the next 15 years I visited often, almost annually, and constantly spoke about one day moving to Canada. In the late 90's I applied for Permanent Residence and it was granted but I was involved with someone that did not want to leave South Africa and something else was holding me back; my family, my friends, my fear. I remember saying that I was tired of always saying goodbye to friends that were emigrating, and I wanted my turn! After a bad breakup in 2002 I almost got a job in Vancouver but that fell through and so I carried on talking about it. In fact, friends that had never considered it, chose Canada and emigrated during that time and I was still speaking about it!

When I met Keith I told him that if he wanted to be with me, then it would have to be in Canada. His response appropriately mirrored the person that he is when he said "I don't care where we live, as long as I'm with you". It would be 3 years before we finally made the move. 

I look back on the past few years that have flown by and I am amazed at how incredible our experience has been. From the moment we set foot on unfamiliar ground we felt at home. Despite my almost spiritual pull towards the country, there were moments when I felt lost or a little lonely but in all this time, Keith has never once wavered from his immediate love for this magnificent place. I have not regretted one thing. I believe that the way in which we embraced everything that is Canada is the reason why we settled so quickly, why we love it here so much and why we have always been happy. We moved into the right neighbourhood, immediately making friends and finding a community where we are on a first name basis with the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker (OK, the wine store clerk). And as the years have gone by, the circle of friends has increased. This week, after a particularly interesting conversation over breakfast, I turned to Keith and said "You know that we have been here long enough when 6 degrees of separation applies".

We have lived a lifetime in a short period; bought and sold homes, lost Dexter and Jessie and brought home Tyson, we've written our learner driver exam and took the road tests despite a combined driving experience of 50 years, we've learned the layout of the city, and found new restaurants to love and hate, we've called 911, wrote a Citizenship exam and passed! We have braved the snow.......and we love it. We have integrated.

I will never forget my roots and this post is not about being South African. This post is my thanks to a great country and it's people. I am honoured and proud to call myself a Canadian. 

But you may not really understand why? Click here and then here. 

@nixgilbertca

I consider myself lucky that I look back on my childhood and smile; a lot of people don’t. I loved high school and I don’t ever recall it being bad. There were occasional moments that one could today call bullying but it was part of growing up, and though I personally feel the term is possibly over-used today it was a different world. If we were naughty we were sent to the Principal’s office for “6 of the best” and despite it, I am no worse off, having proudly showed off the welts to my friends. Our parents didn’t ask us how we felt, or reason with us in the permissive way that I’ve seen kids treated today; we were told in no uncertain terms the how and the what; we grew up in the remnants of a “kids should be seen and not heard” environment mixed with “find out who you are”. In a recent heated discussion with friends I found myself saying “wait till you are 40” and “life was simpler in my day” and I believe it. I also said “you will say the same thing when you get to my age”. No doubt my mother said that same thing at some point in her life.

When you get to my age you have a 40-year history of friendships (I know, it’s an obvious fact). These include people that I have known since the start; many that I met along the way and some that are relatively new (again, not that much different to anyone else). They all bring some kind of meaning to my life. They are all vitally important to me because I am a social soul.

The nature of us being South African is that many of us are spread out across the globe. Many local Torontonian friends I have today still hang out with people they met at school or University. I remember feeling a pang of jealousy one day when a friend said that he had spent the day with people he had known for 15 years. The nice thing about technology today is that email, texts and Facebook help to make people feel closer and we likely know more about each others day now than we did when growing up, albeit our lives are probably not as exciting as Facebook makes them out to be.

I’m at a medical conference in San Francisco and yesterday I spent a few hours with a high school friend I first met in 1988. The cliché applied; I got into her car at the airport and it was like we had seen each other yesterday rather than the god-knows-how-many-years since we last hugged in person. She hasn’t changed much, and hearing that familiar laugh from so long ago instantly made me feel at home. We polished off a bottle of white, ate delicious food and we laughed the guttural loud kind that makes people at nearby tables look up. We reminisced, remembered moments we had forgotten, told each other secrets, I admitted the school crush and she ruined one of my fantasies.

Life moves fast, things happen, days pass, we get wrapped up in what we do. We forget. That’s normal. But we also remember, when these short moments come around, and they fill me with such warmth, they renew my soul, and they feel so goddamn good.  Thanks for taking the time out of a busy day, from errands and chores and 4 children.  Thanks for sitting in the sun with me. I’ll be back for more.