Perspective

Perspective. (Warning: This post is pure stream of consciousness writing and doesn't follow any plan. And therefore, unless you're in my head, it may not make sense.)

It's all in the way we look at a situation, isn't it?

Right now, I've just written about my bathroom and I'm examining my response. My initial reaction? Oh no, we can't go to Japan anymore.Why is that my first response? I'm starting to realize that I've created a world full of artificial constructs and barriers.

No cushy, government job security? Nope, that 's no way to live.**

Not working 9-5 (err...8-4)? No, that's no way to live.

No guaranteed pension plan at 55? OMG, that's definitely no way to live.

**It could be argued that government jobs are not necessarily as secure anymore - but more so than other fields, for sure.

I've come to realize that the majority of the things that I reject out of hand don't actually apply to most people. I know that I've become dependent on security. And I think I know why, but I do have to acknowledge that this is an addiction. I've advised a few of my younger relatives/friends to avoid the allure of the fresh out of uni government job offer. I can think of nothing more mundane than to be tied to a job and a mortgage at the tender age of 22. Live life! Travel! Be poor! I gained so much perspective from these situations. And as a 20-something it was far more socially acceptable to not be married, not have kids, not own a house, not own a car, live downtown in a sketchy neighbourhood.

Without those experiences, I would be a totally different person. As I age and find myself further and further from those situations, I feel myself forgetting them. I forget how touched I was by every day experiences; how just meeting a person with a great spirit affected me or how simply biking to work made me feel optimistic about the future.

One of my strongest post-Japan memories is walking to work. I remember noticing details on buildings that I had never seen before. This was a walk that I had taken many times before, but this one time in particular, the city looked different. The way a town looks when you arrive in it for the first time - you know how towns change once you've been there for awhile and you get to know them? That was how I was seeing my neighbourhood. I had spent so much time examining such small details while I was in Japan because it was all new. I told my co-worker at the time and she said, in her deep, throaty voice,  "Jennifer, you're on a journey."

I scoffed at her at the time, because to be honest, I'd always thought she was a bit of a flake, but she was right. I was. And I still am. At times (now in particular) the journey feels like one step forward, about five back. But, I have moments of clarity. Especially with my son. At the risk of sounding like "one of those moms," he does remind me of those times. For now, at his age, there is no pretense. The world is how we present it to him. That won't last much longer, so if that means throwing my bag down on the ground and running down the street arms thrown wide apart, giggling like a fool, why not? Why does that voice in the back of my head get all cynical and scoff at me?

Psht. I will play with trains on the floor and pretend I'm a ticket taker. I will chug around the house, acting as the caboose.These are the memories that my son will have of me. He'll become cynical soon enough with the two parents that he has.

For now, I endeavour to adjust my perspective; to deconstruct the walls and barriers. It won't always work, I'm sure, but if I keep at it, the world will become my oyster. My family's oyster. My son's oyster.