Why a Turkey Wishbone Taunted Me

So randomly last night, my family had a turkey. A thirty pound turkey for dinner.

(Needless to say we will all be eating turkey for the next week or so, but that’s beside the point of this post).

The real point of this post is that this morning I woke up to find the wishbone sitting on the kitchen window sill, and that damn wishbone, it was taunting me.wishbones It was mocking me with all the wishes I need granted right now, and the great unfairness that IF (and that’s a big if), I get the bigger piece when it’s pulled apart, then only one measly little wish will come true.

But that still got me thinking. If I had to choose one wish? What would I wish for?

If I had to pick one wrong in my life to make right. If I had to pick one hole in my heart to fill, what would I choose? What is at the very top of my list of current heartbreaks.

(You probably see what I mean about how this wishbone was taunting me now. See said wishbone to your right).

But honestly, at first I didn’t know. What would I wish for? What would I choose?

Would I wish for my situation to improve?
Would I wish for my best friend not to live so far away?
Would I wish that Toronto and everyone in it wasn’t a 1.5 train ride away, and that traffic didn’t turn a 40 minute drive downtown into a nightmare of stop and go.
Would I wish for more money? (God knows I could use more money).
Would I wish for my Dad’s chronic pain to go away?
Would I wish for my the happiness of my friends who SO deserve it.
Would I wish away my mother’s migraines to suddenly cease?
Would I wish for my little brother to get more sleep?
Would I wish therapy was free?
Would I wish for my Grandfather to make better choices?
Would I wish for my panic attacks to stop?
Would I wish for justice?
Would I wish for the world, for humanity and right some of the wrongs that aren’t so personal to me?

Unfortunately not.
Unfortunately not with only one wish.

No that one wish, I knew almost immediately what it would be. I knew what I would choose if I only had one wish, because that wish while not righting all the wrongs, while it wouldn’t fill all the holes in my heart, while it certainly wouldn’t solve everything, it was still the one thing I wanted more than any of those other things. It was still the one thing that might just make all the other things a little easier. That would make my battles a fairer fight. That would me a little bit stronger, and a whole lot happier.

So you’re probably wondering, what would it be?
What would I wish for if I only had one wish?
What would I dedicate that semi-dried wishbone to?

Well, it’d be for Jordy. My star-crossed lover from Holland, who’s working in Germany and trying to make his way back to Canada to see me.

It’d be for the person who believes in me, fights for me, and loves my rabbit like his own child. It’d be for the face that makes me set an earlier alarm just so I can spend a little extra time looking at him.

It’d be for love.
For the one I love.
For the kind of love that’s once in a lifetime.
It’d be to have that love in bed next to me in the mornings.
It’d be for the thing, the only thing really, that makes anything and everything else worth anything.
It’d be for love.
That would be my wishbone wish.

Xx,

Hannah

It’s Been One Week

It’s like being born again.

That’s the best way to describe life after putting my heart on a plane. It’s like being born. It’s raw and painful and a little surreal. It’s like waking up to a life where suddenly you know you have love in a way you didn’t before. You have real, physical pure love.

Because that’s how he loves me. In a way no one ever has. It’s almost entirely pure. Selfless. Simple.

However, it also feels unbelievably disorienting. Like I don’t quite know how to walk yet, or talk yet, or exist in the way most people exist. (Like I said, it’s like when you’re first born).

I put on clothes today, or tried to. They didn’t fit. (And I don’t mean that in some grandiose metaphoric sense, I mean they literally were too small for my current body). That felt disorienting. Those clothes used to fit like a glove, kind of like my life did, like the person I was before him fit my life. Now I could barely get them on, I do hope they fit again one day (and soon) I liked who I was before Jordy just fine. I don’t want to discard the pieces of that person, not all, maybe not even some.

I can feel things coming back though. I can feel how hungry I am. I want things more. I want to sink my teeth into something, to dig into it and pull back the layers until I not only understand it, but I can use it and work with it, manipulate the information like a tool.

I am sad though, but in a resigned kind of way. I know this is necessary and I realize it more everyday (especially given how disoriented I feel), and honestly as much as I miss him I am glad he’s not here. See, I am more certain with the more than ever that I need this. I want him to come back to a whole person, but more than that I want this for me. (And even though he isn’t the cause, you can’t reboot a computer and use it at the same time). I want to be without crutches and either fall or fly.

And if I fall. I want to pull myself back up, and this week, even though it’s been incredibly hard. I’m doing that. I can feel it. I can feel the falls, and the crashes, and I can feel myself stand up. I can feel this incredible resilience, this strength and hardness. This willingness not to let anything take from me what I hold most sacred, because contrary to popular belief, being without the person you love romantically isn’t the worse thing that will or can ever happen. It’s harder maybe then a lot of things that happen, but in comparison to the possibilities? It’s not.

So that’s where I am right. That’s how I feel right now.

I know it’s a mixed bag. I know it’s a little contradictory, a little bit of a mixed bag, but it’s what I’ve got. It’s what I’ve got to say.

Growing Up is Never “Graceful”

There’s this saying that’s been floating around in my head: “Growing up gracefully,” and I hate it. Like I really fucking hate it. There is no way to grow up gracefully. No way. It’s impossible, implausible it’s impatient, it’s a million other words that start with im but it’s NOT graceful.

As a person who at 21 is still growing up I can attest to this, and I feel like I need to attest to this.

Here’s why:

I graduated in June, looked for jobs over the summer, and was offered a job (at my dream company) literally on the first day of September (it was a Thursday) ((idk why that matters)). For those looking in, that means my life is literally right on track. My t’s are crossed, my eyes are dotted. I’m basically a perfect example of a successful transition from student to fully-functioning young adult professional.

I guess this is all partially accurate. I have done things the way you’re “supposed to”. I have been lucky enough to move on to the next stage of my life quickly and relatively easily.

Check and check and check and check.

But despite all these perfectly crossed t’s and beautifully dotted i’s, I have certainly not as they say “grown up gracefully”.

Exhibit A:

-immediately following graduation in June, I decided not to begin looking for a job as I should have and as I, a shiny new graduate, was “supposed to.” No. I instead decided to have what I called my “Neverland summer” as in I am never growing up. As in I was going to-for-four-months be Peter Pan.

Exhibit B:

-As part of this, I went back to my summer job as a student. I worked at a strawberry farm selling wine, with people I thought were my best friends. Except it wasn’t fun anymore. I didn’t have anything in common with my much younger co-workers. Friendships that had once been my most solid foundation, my summer-job-bragging-right, quickly deteriorated, and with them, so did the only thing that made working a tedious, menial job tolerable.

And Honestly? That was brutal. I lost my friends. I lost my lifestyle and I lost the summer I’d been planning and wishing for the entire school year. I didn’t take any of that very well.

Not very graceful eh?

    Exhibit C:

-After this summer demise, I spent the rest of the summer looking for jobs, not hearing back and getting extremely discouraged. This is turn led to sleeping all day, Netflix binges and all around misery.

                NOT SO GRACEFUL EH?

Luckily before things were too far gone, I got that call. The one that told me I had an interview in a few days. The one that had the potential (not to be dramatic) but the potential to change my life, and it has.

I now work 9-5 five days a week. I commute with what seems to be everyone else on the freaking planet, and spend my down time doing errands, prepping meals for the week or doing other boring things that adults do, or should do, or whatever. Still, I wouldn’t say I’ve entered this new part of my life gracefully.

For one thing, I’m tired all the freaking time, like more tired than I ever thought possible. For another, I honked at a lady today for putting on lipstick at a red light (and almost gave her the finger too). I was once a very polite friendly driver. For another another, I haven’t been to a bar in two weeks (that’s a long time okay?). And in fact, I’m not really sure how to have an adult social life at all. Like what do adults even do for fun? Laundry???

Now, in case you’re reading this and still thinking I sound like I’m not adjusting too badly, I’d like to take a moment to tell you that I am and I’m not. I’d like to tell you that I finished my fourth day of work today and I came home excited to see my boyfriend and my rabbit, but also that my head was fucking killing me after being at work all day.

I’d like to tell you that I’m on the verge of a meltdown because I have to go to bed in like ten minutes and haven’t finished watching my show (which I will now have to pause and finish watching tomorrow after work which is basically like 500 years from now), but also that I’m kind of really excited to see what I get to work on tomorrow at the office.

Finally, I’d like to tell you that I’m not putting into words everything I’m feeling because there’s a chance my boss is reading this. However, I’d also like to tell you that despite all the doubt, the bitter-sweetness and whatever else I’m feeling about beginning this new (and seemingly never-ending) phase of life, I’m really really really grateful to have the opportunity to be where I am, to work where I do, to have the co-workers I do, and that I’m so excited for what’s next as a media production assistant at my new company.

Still though, growing up is hard, change is hard, and transition is really really fucking hard.

I know these things, you know these things, but as a seemingly functioning adult, I feel like it’s my duty to reiterate them, to tell you that no matter how graceful it looks on the outside, there’s nothing graceful about growing up, not at 5,6,7,8,9, not at 12, and definitely not at 21.

Image result for growing up gifs

Attached in Your 20s: Being Single vs Being Serious

Remember when we were in middle school and it suddenly felt like everyone was coupling up? When suddenly recess became a receptacle for the holding of sweaty 12 year old hands and illicit makeouts on the pavement.

Well, post-grad feels kinda like that. (At least I think so).

It’s like all of a sudden we all went from making out in bars with people whose names we would never know (or care to know) and taking home strangers, to declaring our love on the internet and making things #FacebookOfficial.

Maybe this is our attempt to adult?

(Step One: Find life partner)
(Step Two: Tell everyone???)

Now before anyone gets offended I too have joined the love-zombie army. (His name is Jordy and he takes up most of my instagram lately). However, being the wildly independent-unattached-don’t-need-no-man kind of girl that I am (was?) my membership to the love club is kind of freaking me out.

Here’s why:

  1. Because my boyfriend is dutch and his immigration paperwork is a nightmare and I love him and want to marry him one day but not yet because I’m only 21 and the idea of that is scary as fuck and also I don’t want a green card marriage and neither does he.(I’m guessing that’s just a me problem though)

    SO ANYWAYS

  2. Because I see a future with him, and suddenly what I want in life, and what I picture for myself and my life is starting to include him.

    Now, that’s not saying my plans are beginning to revolve around him, or even my life, but I’m seeing how easily they could start to, and the ease with which I see this terrifies me. Which leads me to….

  3. I am terrified of compromising on what I want/or wanted because I want him (forever).

    I always prided myself on never letting myself revolve around a guy. Ever. Period. The end. I always made my own choices, my own decisions, and if they happened to be amenable for/to him then LUCKY HIM! If not….then Bye Felicia.

    But I’m starting to think more and more that maybe it’s okay to compromise on some things in the name of being happy, because what you want can change. That what you want in life is allowed to change, maybe even supposed to change as you get older/grow/whatever. Because while you do change, as long as you still are a person you like and that your past self would also like and be proud of, don’t beat yourself up for the change (I think?).

    BUT

  4. Isn’t this is the time when you are supposed to get to know you? Like the solo you? Or are those just articles and lists to make the single girls (aka me 8 months ago) feel better?

    I don’t know. A friend told me a little while ago that in the end you just have to do what makes you happy. (Which is a cliche but still true). And truthfully, I don’t think I’ll ever find someone that makes me this happy (even with the constant immigration headaches).

    My boyfriend is patient, kind, tolerant of my uniqueness (read: weirdness). He doesn’t mind tickling my feet for a whole movie, puts up with me loving my rabbit more than him (sorry babe), and works harder than anyone I know. He’s gentle, sweet, and sometimes he’s even funny. I could go on and go, but I’ll stop there because you probably get the point.

Honestly, despite these things (these GREAT things about being in a serious relationship) I’ll probably always worry a little that I didn’t sleep with enough people, or sow enough wild oats. I’ll worry that I settled down too soon or met the one to early (assuming things work out, knock on wood) (((I really really really hope they do))).

I know a lot of my friends with seriously-gonna-marry-him SO’s feel the same.I guess the grass is always greener right?

Though, in these moments when I have these doubts about it being “too-soon” “too-limiting” “too-much” for 21, I try to remember what it was before him. Sometimes, it was great. I had a lot of fun. A lot.I kissed a few boys (and a few I shouldn’t have). I did some things I’m not proud of and some I still really am  😉 . I spent time alone. I was selfish and could leave my phone off without someone worrying I was mad at them (my friends know I am not a fan of charging my phone). I focused on my rabbit, and travelled alone.

Honestly, sometimes I miss it all. Sometimes I can tell my friends miss single Hannah too. (Though they definitely don’t miss sad-lonely-broken hearted Hannah, the Hannah that often accompanied fun single Hannah.) However, I wouldn’t trade fun-singledom for my serious relationship. I wouldn’t trade what I have with Jordy for anything in the world.

So all that said, what’s better? Single or Serious?

Idk.

See, both single and serious are scary, and though I wouldn’t trade Jordy for anything, I can’t honestly say that one kind of scary is better or worse than the other. Nor can I say that one status is better  (or worse). I guess all I am saying is that just being 21 is scary.

Being 21 and in a serious relationship is scary because you worry that having an SO prevents you from being the 21 that you are “supposed to be”. However, that isn’t to say being 21 and single is any easier. Like I said before, 21 any which way is hard.

For me personally, it’s scary and it’s hard because I’m terrified I’m missing out. I am fearful that being attached means I will not only miss the growth of my 20s, but also that I will lose the best things about single Hannah. Her ambition, her candour, her creativity, her drive, her wit. Though as far as losing these things goes, I don’t think I have. I think I’ve remained the person I am. I think I’ve finally found someone who lets me be those things, the ones I am most proud of. I think maybe seriously-attached isn’t the personality catalyst  I thought it was.

That isn’t to say it hasn’t and won’t be a struggle to remain a whole person outside of my relationship. Not losing yourself in someone you love that much? I think that’s tough, especially for people our age. But then, maybe your 20s are for getting lost?

No, maybe not in that sense. Regardless, I don’t have any plans to lose myself. I like her too much. I think I’ll keep her, or at least the best parts of her around. After all, isn’t that what your 20s are really for? Finding the best parts of yourself, for discovering those things inside you and learning how not to let them go, single or taken.