g e t . o u t . a n d . g o

n o t h i n g

 Blood by The Middle East - recently on repeat.

This song breaks my heart in a good way.

*

I need to, try to, remind myself to step away from worrying about things that I can't physically affect. If there's nothing that I can do about it at that moment, any energy expended in relation to it is wasted; channel thoughts and choices into positive directions, not against metaphorical brick walls.

*

In times of personal crisis, I've been attempting to remember past situations which causes me severe stress or anxiety; I visualize the all-consuming nature of those problems at the time and then compare it to their lack of relativity to my current life. Remember: today's disaster is tomorrow's non-issue.

l a k e . s i d e

This past weekend, I was fortunate to spend some time in St. Catherines; Josh and I snuck away and went for a quick walk along the shore, and while it wasn't technically a sea, it was lovely being by the water. It was a gorgeous day, all blazing sunshine and soft breeze and in a perfect, quiet moment,  I felt a million times removed from ordinary life.

w o r d s

r o a d . t r i p

There's a joyful peace to be found in the wild openness of the country side. Everytime I take a drive between cities, I glimpse it: the fields and trees inspire daydreams in me of rustic adventures and sleepy moments in quiet locations. I feel in awe of the natural world, a place of majesty and mystery. I feel an electric surge of potential, hear it whispered in the rushing wind. The endless sky speaks to me, and I feel serene and sure that somewhere, I'll find what I'm looking for. 

*

Last weekend, Josh and I took a little trip to Stratford for my birthday, to see my favourite musical, Fiddler on the Roof. The drive to and from our destination was picturesque! We had an awesome time zipping down the sunny highway, wind rushing through the windows as we sang along to the radio (some of us better than others...I'm terrible). 

l i t t l e . l i g h t

Whenever I pass by a window, I can't help but look inside--especially at night. Walking past in the dusk or darkness, they glow seductively, little golden glimpses into another world.

*

I recall a conversation in winter, when I was four or five: my father sitting on the edge of my bed one night and telling me how to break my window (with the miniature blonde-wood chair from my desk set) and escape in case of fire. I imagined myself hopping through knee-high snow in my nightgown; I tried to summon up the strength that such a task necessitated, and wondered if I ever could.

*

Five years later: on summer nights when high-winds rendered me too anxious for sleep, I sought comfort in the noise and light of television. Nestled on the plaid couch in our family living room, I focused my eyes on the screen and willed myself not to glance towards the far side of the room with its wide windows; beyond the peeling paint of those aged wood frames was the wide open sky, tinged an unnatural pink. In front, there stood a long table of heavy, antique wood which was laden with plants whose silhouettes were only just visible against the glass.  

I remember the angry howl of the wind coming down the chimney and the ominous sight of skeleton branches dancing wildly against the clouds.

*

On another summer evening, in young-adulthood: walking through quiet neighborhoods with someone that I had feelings for, the mood casual yet confusing. As we meandered past quaint houses on lush, tree-lined streets, I passingly peeked into open windows; I wondered if the people who lived within were happy. As the sun set and nature turned cool grey and blue, I wanted to be inside the golden light of those bright homes and the life that they embodied.