Hour 0: After bus confusion and wandering around lost downtown for a bit wondering what direction Nelson Street is, I finally caught the cushy community bus and headed toward Comox & Denman, to the Urban Rush Cafe—the official headquarters of this year’s Vancouver 12×12 Photo Marathon. I register. Am ecstatic to see that I am lucky number 7! Glancing around I feel a bit intimidated by the amount of GIGANTIC lenses there are, and fancy-schmancy cameras attached to them. Tripods, crazy compartmentalized bags, and every other photographic implement of destruction imaginable is present. Humbled. I struggle to remember how to even load film into my crappy Canon Rebel. Man, this is going to be a long day! Briefly consider running away unnoticed;  instead decide that although I have none of the expensive equipment, nor knowledge on how to use it, at least I have a relatively quick trigger finger in order to be the 7th person registered. I drink congratulatory coffee and celebrate small miracles.

First theme announced: Your Entry Number/Different Angle

And we’re off! Feeling refueled by the caffeine and excited by the process, I head out in search of 7 of *something* with which to photograph. I’m hoping for a parade of frolicking ponies pulling wagons of adorable babies but realize this is probably pushing it. Settle instead for standing under a string of seven balloons tied to a stop sign, and wait… ever… so… patiently for them all to line up perfectly. They do, and SNAP – commitment! Not at all sure if I caught the shot. Am suddenly painfully aware of how dependent I am upon the LCD screen preview on my digital camera.

Hour 2: Back at the cafe, excitement in the air. I wish that I had a chance to go to the previous week’s meet-up because everyone seems super friendly and familiar to each other. Feel a momentary pang of shyness. Decide to drink more coffee.

Second theme announced: The Usual Suspects

I head out again in the same direction – back down alleyways and through the residential areas. I think it might be cool to try to locate some pigeons and crows for this shot. Cannot find a single bird to save my life. Finally, I stop a homeless man who tells me a Canucks joke and chats to me about being a camera repair person in his former life. He is fascinating and so very sweet; he tells me I should go to the beach for birds— they like the garbage down there. I wish him well, and am off again. Finally spot two crows on top of a power line. Look through my pitifully small lens and wish that I had thought to rent something better. Wait again patiently for the bird’s heads to line up to show their beak profiles. In the split second between me pressing the shutter and it catching the shot, the birds move. This is ruined shot #1. This is the first of many. This game is harder than it looks.

Hour 3 – Feeling a little sad about my missed shot, I start thinking about how we take for granted the ability to curate our work. How often people don’t understand that out of the 30 great shots that you post on Flickr or Facebook, there may have been 300 others that weren’t. quite. right. It’s a strange feeling thinking that people will be able to see your glory and all your mistakes in this project. No retakes. No trash bin. I’m again humbled when I think of the giant lenses and professional photographers no doubt currently taking masterpiece shots of prancing pony parades and flocks of choreographed seagulls.

Third theme announced: Human Nature

After the bird fiasco, I’m feeling the pressure to do something better with this particular theme—it can be interpreted in so many ways! This is where the challenge lies. I just have to carefully decide what direction I want to take it. I remember seeing a bunch of shoes hanging from wires in a back alley about an hour back, but cannot remember where, for the life of me. Spend the next 45 minutes wandering aimlessly looking for shoes, unable to shake the idea to see other possibilities. Funny how your brain will sometimes fixate. Finally locate them… thankfully they do not move at the last second.

Forth theme announced: Reliable

By this time, my feet are really beginning to ache. I contemplate taking off my shoes and just walking barefoot. Decide instead to stop at Shoppers Drug Mart for emergency Band-Aide triage kit. Oh, good god there is still 8 more hours left. What have I signed myself up for?? I take a picture of my feet. At least they are still attached to my body.

Fifth theme announced: My Greatest Wish

My greatest wish… ? I wish for a shopping cart and someone to push me around in it. And a popsicle made of Strongbow. The odds of this combination happening also seem slim, so I decide instead to find something simple. It feels a little like a cop out, but my feet are killing me, so when I spot the fluffiest cat I’ve ever seen hiding under a bush, I think he would make a perfect wish (No Pets building for me, boo!). He sits patiently waiting for me to compose the shot (an obvious pro photographic subject) ready, set… press the shutter, cat MOVES. Mother$*#@er!!! Curse out loud, in manner similar to sailor. Pet adorable cat to console myself, despite his obvious leanings toward sabotage.

Six theme announced: Odour

After grabbing a bite to eat and a couple of beers, everyone seems refreshed. Odour seems like a great theme—everywhere I look today I’ve seen fragrant things: flowers, dumpsters, porta-potties atop flatbed trucks. Decide in the end to shoot some people crossing the ‘Finish’ line of a bike marathon. Wonder if any of these things will make any sense once printed without the aid of artistic explanation? Decide to risk it anyway.

Seventh theme announced: Echo

Man, these themes are getting tough! My creative brain is throbbing much like my feet, although the beer and band-aids helped immensely for at least one of those issues. My friend Craig talks about his idea which admittedly is pretty awesome, and rides off to capture it. I wonder if it’s possible for me to finish the rest of this marathon without actually moving from my chair? Curse you, footwear. I think of all the cool shots that might visually echo… reflective surfaces repeating, over and over. Head back to Shoppers Drug Mart to see if I can find a hand mirror. I buy it, but am used to knowing how a shot will work on my D80, with the 18-135mm lens. Through the film camera, the shot doesn’t seem nearly as good, but I do my best, anyway. Not sure if this one will come through. Drink more beer. Congratulate myself on strenuous tasks already completed today, like breathing and walking upright.

Eighth theme announced: Trapped

I’ve gotten a chance to talk to a few more of the participants. Funny how you see the Photo Marathon lanyards from across the street and nod and smile knowingly at each other. They understand your pain. They know your exhaustion. Fellow troops in the trenches. By this time Denman is starting to get insane with the amount of people heading downtown for the fireworks. I take my picture and then wander down to the beach. We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day! On the way back to the cafe I see another marathoner taking the same picture that I did for this theme. I wonder how many duplicates of any given subject there will be?? It’s kind of great to know that similar things catch your eye. It will be interesting to see the different takes on the same idea.

What’s this? A beer? Don’t mind if I do. No longer feel quite so glum about my inadequacies in the lens-department, due largely in part to being slightly tipsy and mentally exhausted.

Ninth theme announced: Take it to the Grave

After sitting on a park bench in the sun with my friends Ryan and Ruwan, eating burgers and bitching about first world problems, we discuss the day’s events thus far. I love how clever my friends are. They were organized and brought props. PROPS! I didn’t even think to bring a tripod… or shoes that actually fit my feet. Clever. Lessons learned for next year.

Beer time?

Tenth theme announced: Second Chance

I debate trying to recreate the echo shot, hopefully get it right this time, but the light is waning, and I know that pretty soon I’m going to be screwed. So I tried instead to find one more street subject. I locate a tattered couch in an alley. My already shaky hands are generally adept at messing up shots in the sunniest of conditions; henceforth, it’s unlikely that I will get a steady picture, sans-tripod. I wish I could shoot “Second Chance” tomorrow, with a new roll of film and a better camera. Again, unlikely… I’m now imagining difficulty moving my limbs in the morning.

Coming into the home stretch!

People galore, downtown! Seriously, I am normally claustrophobic, so the steady and constant stream of bodies down Denman Street is starting to make my heart pound and my hands sweat. Then I see some policemen ride down the street on giant, gorgeous Clydesdale horses, and the Hare Krishna’s following — dancing exuberantly with trumpets and tambourines. This is the best. day. EVER. Is there always this much cool stuff happening around here?

Eleventh theme announced: Not for Sale

By this time all I can think about is my limited light options and lack of tripod. I head into the thick of the crowd at the beach just to try to catch the last shred of sunlight. Line up the shot beautifully. This might actually work! I realize after the fact that I set it on the wrong shutter speed. Dammit. This one is bound to be insanely overexposed. Oh, hello camera— have we met before? I apparently have no idea how you operate. I silently vow to teach myself better photography skills, and hope that my roll of film mysteriously goes missing during the developing process.

Twelfth theme announced: Expectation

We are all rejuvenated knowing that the torture adventure will soon be ending. This has been one of the most interesting experiences I have had in a long time. It’s been so amazing to come together with a great group of creative people, of all levels and backgrounds: from film novices like me, to seasoned professionals—bound together by the appreciation of the photographic medium. I can only imagine what goes into organizing an event like this; everyone did an incredible job! Although we are all tired from today, I can only imagine that this is just one of several really long days that have been put in by the entire 12×12 Vancouver team. Bravo, you guys!!

The final exhibit is in a month. I’m both excited and nervous to see it. I realized after this weekend how much I depend upon automatic settings and trial-and-error in my own work. I’m not sure what the final result will look like, but even if I get 2 decent shots from the film I’ll be thrilled. I can’t wait to practice over the next year, and *fingers crossed*— I’ll get a chance to participate in this event again in the future. Vancouver is a special city, and to have an opportunity to meet amazing people, drink beer together, and be collectively creative? You can’t really ask for anything better. (Except maybe ponies).

With all this busing around in my spare time I’ve gotten a chance to do a lot of thinking. Looking back on where I was, and where I am now, and honestly – it’s all pretty great. If I go back only 6 months, I am so far ahead of where I was. If you are ever feeling shitty about life, just look back a few years. Inevitably you will probably be able to say “Thank god _______ happened to me, because if it didn’t, I never would have found __________!” (I hope you fill in those blanks with: I inherited that marshmallow factory, and, how good I am at tap dancing!).

A friend remarked to me recently that I seem like an eternal optimist. Which is only partly true. I think in the back of my mind when I am most worried about how scary life can be sometimes, that is when the optimist switch gets flicked, and I start to look at ridiculously small wonderful things all around me, as a reminder that despite it all – life is pretty outstanding.

I’ve begun to write down a bit of a personal manifesto for myself. Loose rules of thumb that work for me and ultimately help me to become a better, happier person (especially when I’m feeling like a mediocre, negative person). I write it all down in my Wonder Woman sketch book. What started as just a few statements has now descended down the page and around the corner. Here are a few snippets:

1. Enjoy what you already have – get to know it before you move on.
2. Use it up (toothpaste, shoes, and ideas).
3. Listen. Really.
4. Have very specific dreams.
5. Reevaluate often.
6. Always have something to bring to the table – if not creativity, cookies.
7. Take care of what you own (mind, body, spirit).
8. Do your best. In everything you do, no exceptions (love, life & laundry)
9. STOP MARKING TIME.
10. Go outside.
11. Stop living life wishing things were different… change, or change your thinking.
12. Always have a jar of pens. Sketch often; jot things down.
13. Never trust your memory.
14. Nothing exists until it needs to.
15. If you don’t have anyone to go with, go anyway.
16. Drink water.
17. Guilt causes resentment; avoid both at all costs.
18. Give people the benefit of the doubt.
19. Don’t be afraid to fuck up. Don’t be so hard on yourself when you do (and you will)
20. Talk to as many people as possible. It’s good practice for making friends.
21. Make opportunities for yourself.
22. Notice the details, they are what make life interesting.
23. Try.
24. Baby steps will lead you there eventually, no matter how daunting the journey.
25. Be kind.

Where am I going to be in a month? Will I have found a new amazing job? Will I be working at an in-between position until my dream one comes along? Will I have met some new friends? What new music will I have discovered that I now cannot live without? Time will tell…

26. Time = Perspective.

My little North facing apartment gets bright, but never sunny, so I’ve been spending a lot of time recently in the back garden when it’s nice out, or down the street at Douglas Park. I’ve been sketching and brainstorming and reading books on successful job hunting techniques (currently their successful-ness has yet to be effectively tested, but I haven’t given up hope… yet). Also, the Game of Thrones series – SO GOOD.

I try not to dwell on my lack of employment all that much, because truth be told, it could crush me, self esteem wise. Postings are pretty few and far between, and the inundation of graphic designers in this city doesn’t help either. So each time something IS posted, there are 200 people competing for the same job (and if we are talking about Craigslist, it’s likely a $14/hr job that involves design, cake decorating, marine welding, and general accounting. Oh, and animation. Never forget the animation).

One thing that has been a sparkling beacon of glee for me lately is my working to develop an ongoing feature with fantastic local blog www.vancouverisawesome.com (which I will henceforth refer to as VIA, mostly because I’m lazy about typing sometimes). Originally when I contacted the website, it was with the intention of inquiring about volunteer opportunities. I figured, if I’m not finding work I love (that pays me), I might as well help out where I can. And VIA is a great non-profit that has done wonders with bringing together people who want to focus on the positive aspects of this city. I’ve loved the premise since I first discovered it a long time ago, and it has just continued to get better and better. Art reviews, community events, pictures of pets, music suggestions, and just general amazing-ness, allthewayaround. Check it out, if you haven’t. It’s got something for everyone, literally.

Anyway, long story short, when I contacted the blog to see if they needed help manning tables at events, or doing general office help, I explained a little about myself and then at the end of the email added a link to my blog. And from there, Bob Kronbauer (who is so incredibly nice and well, awesome) checked out my portfolio, and the Bittersweets and contacted me, asking if I would be interested in doing something for VIA. Uh, heck yes?! The project is pretty much what I’ve been doing already (documenting details in the city) – but now it will be exposed to a wider audience (gulp). Since I got back from Banff I’ve realized there is so much of Vancouver I have never seen. My unemployment combined with boredom has encouraged me to hop on random buses and see where I end up. It’s mostly to spark my imagination for potential jobs (Art Galleries? Manufacturers? Subway Sandwich Artist?) but sometimes it was just for the adventure. Now, I can take a bit more methodical approach to consistently getting out there, whilst still being creative in my own way. But it still feels scary, vulnerable.

I haven’t been blogging here as much lately; trying to plan the VIA project combined with my desire to keep this personal blog as upbeat as possible (it’s a downer bitching about the discouraging nature of job hunting), I just haven’t had much of a chance to write. But I’ve been taking a ton of photos. Hundreds and hundreds. And now that the Wanderful feature (which is the name of it, btw) goes live today, I don’t have to keep quiet about it anymore, for extreme superstitious fear of jinxing myself. So hopefully my choosing random neighborhoods in Vancouver, exploring the shit out of them, and documenting via pictures will inspire me to write more, all the way around

On other cool, yet unrelated fronts – I snagged a ticket to the Vancouver 12×12 Photo Marathon event that is coming up on August 6. I’m pretty excited about it. Film (gulp, x2)! 12 frames. 12 themes. 12 HOURS. There are 60 people who compete in the event, and it’s a huge range of photogs – hardcore professionals, to hobbyists like myself. Once the day is over, they develop the film, and then everyone gets together for an evening where the shots are displayed and awards for specific categories are given. I myself have not shot film since my Emily Carr days, so if they award a “Only took 7 hours to load her camera” prize, I’m totally going to SCORE!

Also, Summer Live happens this weekend, which is a cornucopia of free concerts and events taking place in Stanley Park to celebrate Vancouver’s birthday. Dan Mangan, Neko Case, The Zolas, New Pornographers, and about 9000 other incredible artists are going to be there. So that’s something to look forward to, as well. Did I mention it’s free? FREE.

All around, so much fantastic stuff going on! I have a feeling this is going to be a pretty productive summer. Now fingers crossed for continued beautiful weather and good thoughts for happy, gainful (soon, please) employment!

The media is of course having their usual exploitative heyday with the Vancouver Riots. I don’t even really want to acknowledge the whole thing, because frankly, it’s all been done. It’s be said. Over and over until we want to collectively cry. And yes, it was horrible. But out of that dark again, Vancouver proved herself to be comprised of some of the most inspiring, caring and selfless people around. This is what that post is about. This is a post where I talk about how I came to the realization tonight that since moving into this little apartment, the best possible thing could have happened: my extreme lack of space forced my hand into not having a TV. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love watching HBO series and documentaries as much as the next person. But I found that when I had an actual TV in my possession, i often ended up watching a lot of News. Under the guise of educating myself, I was in actuality poisoning my psyche, one day after the next with the endless constant negativity. Now yes, i understand this sounds all very dramatic, but there was a definite downward slump in my mood when I was watching the news 2 hours a day. The sometimes subtle sad or hostile undertones, well – we’ve become so accustomed to them in our daily lives that we don’t question them anymore. But undoubtedly, they are toxic.

Now, because I don’t have my own TV, but have still become quite the hockey watcher during the playoffs, I ended up at my best friend Tara and her husband Jim’s place for Game 7. We understandably we all super excited, and drinking beer and having fun. And then we lost. Disappointing? Yes. Of course. The end of the world? Not in the slightest.

Then we got a call saying that the downtown core had begun the rioting. So we switched the station, and then we watched, stunned. Horrified. And for a few wordless minutes, heartbroken. Despondent. Those pictures – those Molotov cocktail throwing testosterone enraged psychos… this couldn’t be our city? Admittedly, i was in a tipsy state of denial. A friend and I walked home together, and overhead you could hear the helicopters circling, and the endless drone of ambulance sirens taking load after load of casualties to nearby Vancouver General Hospital. What is one to do in this situation?? Well, obviously – the only thing that made any sense to my mind in that moment: go find some swings, and swing the hell out of them. So we did. Then, after the swinging had concluded, it only made sense to further continue the tipsy party in the back courtyard, sipping Granville Island Raspberry beer, and laying in lounge chairs under the stars. Listening to our city, which had in the course of a handful of hours resembled a war zone.

Had this been my old apartment, I would have rushed right home, plunked myself in front of the TV and stayed up until 4am watching in horror as the police struggled in vain against a bunch of hoodlum assholes hell bent on creating destruction. But, because I didn’t, I brushed my teeth, got into bed, and fell asleep.

When I woke up this morning, I felt melancholy. I wasn’t bummed out about the game loss. The Canucks played a great series. Bruins played a better one. It’s ok to admit that your opponent is good. I kept reading Facebook posts about a clean-up that was going to start happening early in the morning downtown – people would be heading there with bags and brooms and dustpans, ready to put the city back to right. Back to normal.

I grabbed my camera and hopped on a bus, preparing myself for a few hours of documenting the carnage, and perhaps lending a hand, if I was needed. But when I got there, my heart almost burst at the weight of it all. The sheer number of smashed windows, the burnt dumpsters, the blood on the ground. BUT… and here is a very large BUT – I was absolutely blown away by how many people were out already, making the city sparkle. People from all walks of life were there – children, teenagers with mohawks, seniors in wheelchairs, businessmen in expensive suits, women in high heels. And they were all working together. And they were all doing it with smiles on their faces. There was no hand-wringing; there was no endless bitching about how the city has failed us, and all the things that could have gone wrong. It was just people in love; bursting with pride for their little city, protecting her and shining her up. Not quite brand new, but almost. And it brought tears to my eyes, several times.

Tonight I realized – I’m so much better off without the TV. I’m better off surrounding myself with things that inspire me, or restore my faith in people who care to do good for those around them, and the place they call home. You can look elsewhere for scathing commentary on the downfall of humanity and the ineptitude of whoever the fuck you think dropped the ball. Personally, I think that the Vancouver Police Department did a bang up job. I think the paramedics and firefighters and civilians who threw themselves in harm’s way on behalf of a city we all love so dearly— you were all amazing — and words cannot thank you enough. So instead, I will do what comes easy to me – I will tell the story of my day through pictures. And I hope that the positivity comes through. The optimism and gratitude. Vancouver, don’t let this get you down. You’ll shake this off just as you have before. You really have no other choice – there are too many of us here, cheering you on.

You usually bought your ticket from a sweet senior sitting in the tiny booth,  the smell of popcorn already wafting out the open front door. The huge lit-up sign out front was old and shabby, but had a certain nostalgic charm about it; you could certainly envision how in years past, she must have been gorgeous… state-of-the-art for her time. Even her name was regal: Hollywood.

Every time they took my money I felt a slight pang of guilt and excitement at the price. When I first discovered this art deco theatre in my early twenties, I had just moved to Vancouver. It was $5 for a double bill. At that time (and still, currently) regular theatres might charge you slightly less for the ticket, and then gouge you on snacks. But not the Hollywood. It was cheap to get in, and cheap to eat popcorn for dinner. And I did both—regularly.

I would always choose the same seat. Sneak up the dark curtain-draped side staircase into the balcony. It had super threadbare 70′s (60′s?) carpet—a remnant of many years past—but it all added to the charm. The mystique. Besides, it was so dark up there you couldn’t really see the details (which, in the end, was probably in the best interest of everyone).

Although I have ridiculously long legs, I always sat in the front row of the balcony. There I could kick off my shoes and perch my feet along the well-worn wooden ledge. It was never comfortable. But it was tradition. There were no railed barriers in this theatre, like you see in newer lawsuit-paranoid multiplexes (ones that prevent small children or drunken teenagers from dropping 30 ft. onto their heads). Here we were free to place feet or sit upon the ledge, or fall to our deaths. It was a throw-back to a time of user self-responsibility, and I loved it. I loved it like only a 5’11 pretzel jammed tightly into the front row of the balcony, could.

Although she was old, but she had beautiful bones. I sat among ghosts in that balcony. While waiting for the first film to begin, or during intermission, I liked to imagine all the people who had sat in these horrifically uncomfortable seats. In my mind’s eye I could see a time-lapse movie of 75 years worth of comings-and-goings. Dapper suits to scrappy kids, teenagers throughout the ages who came to drink beer and make-out in the privacy of the balcony—hippies to hipsters. We have loved you, all of us. A common thread to tie us together.

I saw Garden State there 4 times. This was a feat in of itself, being that each double bill only has a run of 1 week. But that was during a particularly rough and lonely time in my life, and I found comfort and solace in that film. It gave me hope, it broke my heart, it made me happy.

I formed nightly crushes during each of my adventures to the Hollywood. To pass the time I would choose who would get to be my unsuspecting movie-boyfriend for the evening. He would be cute and solo, the only prerequisites (although depending on how many patrons there were that evening, ‘cute’ might be used in the loosest possible sense). We would never actually interact of course, but I would imagine that solo-movie-watching-him would see solo-movie-watching-me, and we would come together and bond over the coolness and liberation that comes from watching movies alone. Generally speaking, when given a chance, I will choose to watch movies alone. Without question.

People who go to the movies alone are awesome. There is a quiet coolness about it. A certain self-assured “I don’t give a shit if I don’t have a sidekick” confidence. Often I wouldn’t even care what the films were, I would just go to be out in public; I would go and stare at the screen, basking in the glow of it all and just have time to think. When you are a tiny speck in a rickety balcony, regardless of what’s going on in your life, problems feel smaller. You get lost in the darkened distraction.

The Hollywood Theatre has been owned by the same  family for 75 years. They have quietly opened her doors night after night, despite lack-lustre sales and ridiculous corporate competition. They have only reluctantly raised prices in the last couple of years, but even when it topped out at $8, it was still an insanely good deal. But for the longest time, it stayed at  just $5. I always wondered how they could afford to do it, being in Kitsilano—one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Vancouver. The cinema itself was rarely busy, and there were nights I would sit through 4 hours in the balcony, completely alone (which admittedly always kicked ass). It was out of love they did it, I’m sure. Certainly not fame or money. But I suppose there is an end to everything.

The Hollywood Theatre is closing this weekend. Or rather, she is “changing hands”, which NEVER bodes well for beloved established businesses. I’m sure if she remains a cinema, she will be gutted and renovated; stripped of charm and fitted with dolby surround sound and top of the line technology. The movies will become first-run, and the tickets will become $13. That is if they don’t decide to bulldoze her to the ground to build condos. She was an institution. She was a Vancouver landmark. She was mine.

I wonder what they will do with her glorious tattered sign? With the incredible old architectural details like the seats and deco fixtures and signage in the powder room (which was always much fancier than a regular bathroom, on account of the chandelier).

Originally when I heard the news of her closing this weekend, and I checked the double bill, it was disappointing. A shitty movie with Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson, and some animated movie I’d never heard of. It seemed extra sad to see that she was going out with a whimper rather than a bang. But when I checked a minute ago, I see they have added CINEMA PARADISO as the first film… which seems a rather more fitting goodbye.

I will go this weekend, and sit solo in the balcony. Breathe in the sights and smells and back-wrenchingly uncomfortable seats one. final. time. I hope for once she is packed to the gills. I hope that everyone who ever laughed or cried or made-out or had terrible or awesome first dates will go and pay respects. I hope that the Fairleigh family will see how much she was loved and how empty that spot on Broadway will be without her. She will be sorely, surely missed.

I have built a ridiculous amount of Ikea furniture in the last 2 weeks, during which it was necessary to utilize both the accompanying allen key, as well as a case of Strongbow to help to decipher the universally confusing instructions. There are no words (well, except for the occasional copious profanity from me) to explain the process — only seemingly easy, yet-always-confusingly-ambiguous diagrams. I like to imagine the Ikea Informational Designers laughing heartedly at the millions of North American dopes swearing profusely while trying to patch together the Lerberg shelving unit. Frustration ensues (as does more Strongbow). Everything ultimately ends up working out fine, albeit slightly considerably off kilter. My friend Meghan lent a hand with the large Expedit room divider thingamajig, and if she hadn’t, I might not be here typing this right now. I would instead be visibly twitching in a corner muttering about wooden dowels not fitting into too many holes. Why are there holes if nothing fits into them?? Why, also apparently confused Ikea Instruction Man, why??? At times I was concerned about my mental desire to punch an illustration in the face. But, it all worked out in the end.

There are subtle differences to my feelings for this apartment vs. the last. I love the hardwood floors. I dis-love the lack of counter space. I love the brightness. I dis-love the fact that sometimes I feel like I’m living in a fishbowl. I love the fact that I can walk from one end of my place to the other in roughly 3.2 seconds. I dis-love the fact that I can walk from one end of my place to the other in roughly 3.2 seconds. The windowbox of course, goes without saying.

For once in the history of me I have far too many shelves for books, and not enough volumes to put upon them. Over time, one builds a substantial collection. Bit by bit, your personal library expands to fill the space, to tell the story of your literary life, your tastes and trends as you get older. But books are tedious to move, and being that I knew I would be coercing my put-upon friends to help me move again at some undetermined time in the future, it seemed only right that I cut my collection in half… in quarters. So I gave them all away. And now my shelves look alarmingly empty. I never realized how much I felt my book collection somehow reflected my intelligence or ability to be interesting. Funny how those ideas seem to develop all on their own, in the back of your mind. So I’m beginning again. At least now I can been more choosy, and can do arty things like color-coordinate them, as opposed to my tried-and-true ‘lining them up in terms of height’ method before.

Here is some photographic proof that despite me not having any sort of cohesive style, it still sort of works, in all it’s randomness. (It also proves that I, like the rest of the city have fallen into NHL playoff watching fever). I love color. I love texture. I love vintage ceramics that involve anthropomorphic cats wearing hats and smiling mischievously. I love out of date technology like cameras and typewriters. Although mildly alarming sidenote: my typewriters are currently M.I.A. (which when you think about it, is it a feat it itself, being that they weigh about 20lbs each, and there are 4 of them).

I have managed to separate the space with the shelving unit, which actually ends up making a pretty sweet little bed nook. I hung paper lanterns overhead and curtains at the foot of the bed to close off the space a little. Which ends up making it feel really cozy when I’m tucked inside.

I was afraid that if I moved into a bachelor suite that I would end up feeling like I never left my bedroom. I was worried that people would come over to visit me and it would feel awkwardly small, but the opposite has been true. I think the mirrors and giant windows lend themselves well to opening it up in here.

Plus, the times I feel like I need to get away from these walls, I can slip out into the back garden, which is absolutely gorgeous right now. There are bluebells strewn about, and people have staked out tiny garden plots and filled them with vegetables and soon-to-be-flowering plants. There are chairs to laze around and read books in. Trees to lay under, and quiet enough to forget that I am living in the city (well, except when I am actually inside the apartment, when there is no way in hell I could ever forget that I live in the city, and more accurately, on the side of a highway). Thank god for earplugs.

So here I am – feeling pretty damn good about life in general. It’s nice to tick one thing off my life list. Having a home base that I feel excited to be in makes for a pretty contented me. I’m still on the job search, but it will come soon enough. In the meantime it’s officially dress and t-shirt weather, and the days stretch past 9:30. Hurray for Spring (and very shortly, Summer)!

I had kept in contact with the manager of my old building and asked him to keep me posted on vacancies. He had mentioned that a large suite would be opening mid-July, and it would be almost identical to the place my cousin was currently living in. I didn’t think I could wait that long, I said. Although he knew I was looking for a 1-bedroom, he mentioned that they had just evicted a man who had lived in a bachelor suite for 11 years. But he had been both a recluse and a chain smoker, so the place was in pretty rough shape. Although I had no desire to live in a bachelor suite, my curiosity to look at the bachelor suite won. So I agreed to check it out.

Holy hell, was I unprepared for the state of the apartment when I walked into it — despite the landlord’s forewarning of the disgusting condition. I discovered that not only was smoking his favorite hobby, but he was also an expert at avoiding cleaning and not taking out the garbage… FOR ELEVEN YEARS. Without a word of exaggeration, this man could not have cleaned that apartment a single time that he lived there. It was like a scene from “Hoarders”. There was garbage piled everywhere, and this was apparently after the they had already trucked out 4 gigantic bins to the dumpster, including a pretty impressive collection of porn VHS tapes from the 80′s. Cobwebs clung to every wall, and the smell of stale smoke hung so thick that I had to cover my mouth with my jacket sleeve to quell the urge to throw up. It was horrendous. Instantly, it was confirmed: not only did I not want to live in a bachelor suite, there was no way in hell I could ever live in that bachelor suite.

In the meantime, living in Maple Ridge became increasingly more stifling, creatively speaking. I had not written, taken photos or done much of anything aside from sleep, eat, job-hunt, and dream of a new life since I got here. My wheels were spinning.

Long story somewhat shorter: I imagined this amazing life in this end-of-July, large 1-bedroom upstairs apartment without actually seeing it. When I finally did see it, it left a lot to be desired. The interior bones were different from my cousin’s suite that I was basing my image upon. And honestly, it just didn’t feel… mine.

One heart, sank.

I was so conflicted. This is the problem that arises when you live much of your life in your mind before it tangibly unfolds in reality. Back to the drawing board. I went to ask the landlord to continue to keep me posted about future vacancies. He was deep in the midst of reinventing the Hoarder’s Den.  I was absolutely astonished by it’s transformation. It’s pretty incredible what a few coats of paint, ripping out of hideous filthy carpet, trucking out 2 tons of toxic garbage, several weeks of fumigation, and complete gutted renovation can do. It was beginning to shape up beautifully! The inlaid floors were in gorgeous shape (that was one thing I always longed for in my old place… hardwoods). The black & white tiles were laid in the kitchen, the clawfoot was in the living room, waiting to be reglazed. The windows, beyond repair, are set to be replaced with double paned ones to keep out the street noise from 12th. The new appliances ordered. It was a work-in-progress — but still, all of a sudden, I realized…

This was my little apartment.

I would end up paying substantially more than I would if I chose to take another bachelor suite down the hall, due to all the cost incurred while renovating the Hoarder’s Den. But it seemed worth it because this would be new and clean and quaint and wonderful. It had the tub, the tiles, the high coved ceilings, the floors, heritage built-ins, a kitchen window! This apartment had everything I was looking for… only bite-sized. This apartment was giving me the vibe that I had been waiting for from all the other larger places I had been checking out. This little place was giving me the sense that I could live within her walls quite happily, despite her small stature. I was as surprised as anyone to realize this.

This was my new home.

Now realistically — I know myself, and I have lived in bachelor suites at previous stages in my life. It’s tough. I like having space to create, and make a mess, and lay on the floor in the middle of the living room listening to records and drinking wine. But this apartment didn’t have a living room. Or rather, it had one LARGE living room, and no bedroom. Admittedly, it was going to be a huge challenge condensing all my stuff into one minuscule space. I would need to be more organized. I began taking a lot of inspiration from Apartment Therapy’s website, and it’s “Small Cool” contest — where people who live in small apartments send in photos of their homes and discuss how they deal with the challenges of condensed living… (some with only 200-300 sq ft, which make this bachelor suite’s 430 sq. ft. seem spacious!).

I understand that it’s unlikely I will live in this place for much longer than 6 months… ultimately I want to have a place that is not right on 12th — a place I can actually put roots down in. Luckily, I will have first dibs on any other apartment that may come up in the building, so I can continue to be choosy, IN VANCOUVER. But for now, I am prepared to take a beautiful tiny apartment for an undetermined amount of time. For now, I’m prepared to think of this place as my home and make it amazing, as best as I can. For now, I’m really just excited about the thought of picking up my life and getting on with things, already. I’m hoping once the reno’s are done (mid-May) and I’m settled in, I’ll be able to carve out a space that’s all my own, and my currently-on-life-support creativity will be revived.

Next up, just a few other small details: new job, finding a boyfriend, financial stability, general grown-up-edness, dinner parties hosted in a teeny apartment. Baby steps… one square foot at a time.

No news to report on the apartment hunt. I’ve gotten a chance to check out a few places, and I’ve gotta say – the whole writing-letters tactic generally works quite well for this. I would recommend it to anyone (especially those who are maybe living abroad and thinking about moving here for school) because it just gives landlords a chance to get to know you. Unless of course you are an ax murderer or have horrible grammar. Perhaps then it’s better to just keep that to yourself. Looking for places is always stressful, regardless. Craigslist is always a mad dash, crazy competition, gong show. The rental listings on there are usually quite a bit higher than they are if you just wander around the neighborhood looking for signs. And when you are going up against lots of others who are looking, you feel rushed to make decisions. Settle for places under pressure. I don’t want to do this. For once, I actually have the luxury of being a little choosy with this situation, so I’m holding out for just a little longer. Mostly for that damn bathtub. Curse you, clawfoot (kidding, I love you). Plus, there are cats here, which somehow make the situation quite a bit more tolerable.

In the meantime, I’ve hung out with many friends lately. Gone to dinner parties. Consumed a bit of wine. Walked over the Cambie Street Bridge with Meghan to watch the SUPERMOON! Enjoyed watching the blooms come out… even in the rain. Been pretty contented with life in general.

Vancouver, you couldn’t get more beautiful if you tried.

Unrelated side note: Despite being (somewhat) homeless, and living out of various boxes and bags, I took the plunge and bought even more crap that I can’t momentarily use… a set of cooking pots! Some of you may be questioning if I’ve suffered a mild concussion recently. But it’s true! I couldn’t resist. I’m envisioning my dream kitchen, in which I’m homey and inclined to cook things… in beautiful turquoise pots. They are almost too pretty to use:

The plane ride was super turbulent, due to a heavy wind storm that had started earlier in the day. I am a mixed flier. Most of me is excited by the turbulence—it’s similar to an amusement park ride, where all of a sudden your stomach drops out from under you. It’s fun. Then I get flashbacks to the plane crash scenes in every stranded-on-a-desert-island movie ever made, where backs of planes are suddenly ripped off, and people are sucked out in screaming fiery explosions. I momentarily get a little nervous and white knuckle the armrest until the plane rights itself. Then, all is well. The green of the land and that intense grey-lavender that comes after a storm here in BC, coupled with the ability to walk around in a hoodie… you’d be hard pressed to find a happier girl at that moment. Instant comfort.

It’s been 1 week. 1 week of running the gamut of emotion: Happy, scared, worried, disappointed, excited, discouraged, sad, comfortable, happy again. Wash.rinse.repeat. I’m ecstatic to be back, but also feeling at a bit of a loss of where to start to rebuild. It’s like I hit the “reset” button on my life, and now I’m back trying to find a house I adore, find work I love, reestablish me in this place, all.over.again. Funny how everything can be knocked down to zero in the course of just under 6 weeks. Instant regrowth.

I’ve realized the hardest part about what I will now refer to as “the experiment” in Banff, was letting go of my apartment. When I moved away, I said my goodbyes as I was scrubbing her black and white checkered floor. I lovingly removed every scrap of myself from within her walls, whispering reassurances of adoration as I worked. When I locked the door for the final time, I felt like I had closure. I knew I would get over the loss. Sure, it might take awhile, but I would be better from the experience. But because I cut the experiment short, I didn’t have enough time to feel like I had moved on. So here I am back, feeling as though I could just walk right into my old building, open the door and find all my things—my studio, my bathtub, my life. Start from where I left off. Obviously, it’s been a tough break-up, me and that apartment. A lot of sleepless nights, a lot of regrets. I just hope that I can eventually move on. I just hope that I don’t spend the next 5 years reminiscing about all the good times we had, she and I. Holding a ruler up to all the new apartments, forlorn if they don’t quite measure up. But she will be a tough one to live up to—with her high ceilings, beautiful kitchen, decorative mantle, clawfoot bathtub, windowed office, southwest facing, cheap(relatively speaking, for the Westside of Vancouver). She was pretty special. I daydream about the property managers calling me up, telling me the new occupant had to take a job in a foreign country unexpectedly, the suite suddenly available again. These are the fantasies that live in my thoughts now. Instant longing.

I realized that looking for a new place is not unlike online dating. You get a super brief description, and then show up hoping to hell that it all works out. Sometimes you are amazed at the diamond in the rough that came from a few descriptors: one bedroom, 2nd floor, non-smoking, no pets. And then it ends up gorgeous and amazing. Other times, no matter how much they try to spruce it up by using words like “spacious” (380 sq ft bachelor apartment), and “bright” (as bright as an underground basement suite can be), and “cozy” (read: 6.5′ ceilings), there is just no prettying it up. I like to imagine who ends up taking those places. Midgets? Vampires? Hobbits? Not girls with long legs who like to collect things… not me.

Rental pricing in Vancouver is atrocious. I knew this before, but some of the rent is ridiculously laughable. All this “Vancouver is the Best Place on Earth to Live” is hurting us. $1200 for a teeny tiny bachelor suite? I don’t care if you do have an elevator (which, by the sounds of it, is larger than the apartment itself), or in-suite laundry. Having the convenience of washing your shirts at 2 a.m. pales in comparison to being able to stand upright in ones own living room.

I’ve approached the process in baby steps (much like everything else in my life as of late). I’ve slept on the floor of my best friend’s apartment so I can be in Vancouver, searching. I’ve wandered around, writing down addresses of buildings that seem like they would have character—be somewhere I would like to call home. I’ve drafted a letter, and sent out many envelopes, explaining my situation. Pleading my case. Hoping that a vacancy will come up and they will take a chance on me. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, I’ve enjoyed hanging out with my folks. Playing with their cats. Eating home-cooked meals. Catching up with dear friends. Taking in all the signs of Spring—the yellow and purple crocuses, the tiny fragile paperwhites, the cherry blossoms just beginning to bloom, the light out until 6:37 pm.

I don’t regret the experiment. I had to do it in order to know. But at this moment it’s hard not to look back regretfully on what once was. It is with this experience that I hope comes something new—something even better. In the midst of uncertainty, it can be tough not to dwell. Only when you’ve had some space and time to reflect do you truly understand that that situation was necessary to get where you now stand. That rough patch was necessary in order to move forward. That’s what I just keep trying to remember. It will all work out in the end— it always does. Instant faith.

If anyone hears of a great one bedroom character apartment in Fairview, Cambie, Main Street, or the WestEnd, please let me know. I’m responsible, quiet, and love places as though they were my own. Because I suppose for a short time, in my mind, they actually are.

It’s easy to say now that a huge boulder-sized weight was lifted off my shoulders since my last entry. It was a tough one to write, but necessary, vulnerable. I was afraid if I admitted those feelings out loud, wrote them down on paper, it would crush me. It would push me into a downward spiral and consume me. But, I’m here—happier than ever.

Coming here has been one of the best things I’ve ever done. For a myriad of reasons—most totally unexpected. But over the course of 5 weeks, I have grown so much. I learned I can be the type of person to throw caution to the wind and uproot my life to take a chance on the unknown. I learned that shyness and loneliness are things that travel with you—often despite efforts to lose them in transit. I realized that other people can relate.

I learned how much I love the outdoors, and simultaneously how much I hate snow. Well, hate is a strong word—I love snow when it’s falling, I love it when it’s pristine for as far as you can see, I love it when it caps the mountains. But I hate the cold—how it breaks you down, and makes you wish for green; makes you long for the buds just beginning to peek up in Vancouver, the cherry blossoms and magnolias that will be growing there shortly. Most of all, I learned so much about who I am. I know that sounds cheesy and cliché, but also, true. I learned that -36 weather freezes ice to your eyelashes, and makes cold feel like you’re pressing your skin to a hot burner. Curious, opposite.

I learned it’s OK to change my mind.

I’m ecstatic to admit that I’m heading back to Vancouver. In a self-propelled, determined-to-continue-to-make-this-year-what-I want-it-to-be way.

A few months ago I spoke to the fact that this being my 32nd year, I felt a lot of pressure to really DO something with it. And in the weeks after getting to Banff and feeling disheartened and failing, it was hard to see the idea of me not continuing here anything but admitting defeat. But nothing could be further from the truth. I made the choice to come here, and in that process, got to spend 5 weeks in the mountains, meet a handful of really amazing people, grow internally by leaps and bounds, be inspired, and solidify that not only do I know more than ever what I want out of life, I’m strong enough to recognize when I’m not getting it, and take the steps necessary to change.

I’m not advocating giving up on things when they get tough. I’m advocating looking inside and knowing what is best for you, regardless of other people’s opinions, or self imposed obligation. I realized this last week that life shouldn’t feel like a prison sentence where you are counting down the days until you can do something different—be somewhere else. If that is what life feels like, regardless of place or circumstance, it’s time to change. If you are staying at a job you despise because you are terrified of what you will do after it, or if you continue in a relationship that is not fulfilling because you are scared of being alone. You’re not going to win a “I Toughed Out an Intolerable Situation for a Ridiculous Amount of Time” award. Or if you do, it will be ugly and won’t match your decor.

So I’m advocating the ‘Reassessment Pass’. The ‘It’s-OK-to-Change-Your-Mind Pass’. It’s like a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card, except smaller and more liberating.

In my 32nd year so far, I’ve moved forward from a job that wasn’t creatively fulfilling, despite paying me very well. I packed up my life that was comfortable and familiar and moved to another province to try to advance my career. Understood that in the situation I put myself in, there was no way that was going to happen. Made it ok to change. Taken about 3000 photos so far, created about 10 new pieces of art. Written. Read books. Designed. Made new friends. Been true to myself. Understood where my heart lies.  That in of itself is huge—noteworthy. Enough.

I’m heading back to B.C. on Wednesday. I’m determined to continue my search for a great job. I’m thrilled and excited at the prospect of discovering my new home. I have a hazy idea in my mind’s-eye of what she looks like, but will know her when I see her. I hope she has a clawfoot tub. Windowboxes. Maybe a new neighborhood that I can explore.

I think the most important lesson for me has been this: Never, never settle for anything less than what brings you happiness. Screw what other people think. Screw preconceived notions and expectations placed on yourself. If you’re not getting what you need, take steps to change it. Life shouldn’t be about marking time.

Spring, here I come.