Reviewing 2019 - mostly highs, then a walloping heartache

2019 was all-round a solid year. Notable highlights included:

• My mother visited after a six year hiatus. Mind that it was to help open a new Save On store, but the effort and her presence was appreciated. I was on strike from going to Alberta until some immediate family visited me here. While I do not want my brother to visit and suspect my sister never will, I will now dutifully return to my hometown in the spring. I was thrilled Mom was able to take in my year-end swim meet, even if she was too tired for me to properly show her around the rest of my life in Dawson Creek.

• SO MUCH HIKING!!! From Toad River to Mount Robson and numerous trails in between around Tumbler Ridge, I covered hundreds of kilometers this summer with an ever-changing crew of soccer team mates, friends, and coworkers. They even politely listened as I identified and rattled off random botanical facts.
  
• Swimming as part of a triathlon relay team in the local race. Our entire team bested their time expectations and enjoyed the race-day atmosphere. Unfortunately I was soured against training with the summer competitive club in the future. Largely ignored during practices with no technique corrections given, I dutifully dragged my race-anxious self to the required number of meets and puked my nerves out. I’m well aware that I will never be a provincial champion, but I was still paying to be in the pool and wanted to benefits of being coached.
  
• QUIT MY JOB!!! More specifically I quit a barely-qualified, disengaged supervisor who set poor time management objectives and even worse attendance expectations. I readily took a pay cut, returned to seasonal employment, and joined a high-functioning emergency response agency.
  
• Many, many hours at the pool. As staff on deck as part of a fun, trusting aquatics team, and in the water training alongside my lane besties. 

Lowlight delivered early December:

• Ending an eight-year relationship. Because kids. I would rather jump off a bridge than contribute to overpopulation. It still stung to abruptly have a treasured confidant, adventure buddy, and lover be no more.
  
  I had a lollipop moment after I told one of my girlfriends. She simply texted, “I got you” and again whispered it in my ear as we hugged goodbye for the night, tears streaming down my face. That simple phrase allowed me to re-focus on who I still had and wanted, needed even, to be part of my child-free life. My girlfriends, teammates, lane buddies, co-workers, yogis, dear friends near and far, and even some of my family. 

So long 33, hello 34!

Well, 33, you’ve taught me a lot. I stepped out of my comfort zone multiple times, and have been richly rewarded. I suffered defeat in the professional sphere that’s added to my uncertainty of remaining employed in the forest industry. More of that later. Or not – I’m still coming to grips with the possibility of a soft exit strategy from an industry, and ultimately an identity, that I’ve proudly worn for more than a decade.

My birthday has long marked a transition point. It’s the start of summer season, the shedding of winter’s cool and dark embrace, a return from foreign travels. From student to worker, from unemployed to frantically refilling my bank account, from office to field, as if the entire bush is open for business on May 1.

Summers have always meant work. Silviculture workers are not afforded the luxury of “summers off”, “holidays”, or “a week at the cabin”. Rather, my birthday marks the start of a condensed season of intense physical effort to collect data, wrangle contractors, and maybe even sneak in a lucrative fire deployment. I push my body and demand it relearns how to penetrate thick alder, swim through aspen and cottonwood, traverse over slash taller than me, and delicately dance with devil’s club.

And I lose. I fall. Over and over and over again. My body telling the familiar tale as bruises, cuts, and grazes cover my limbs.

This year feels different. That familiar longing has waned, my desire drained. Perhaps what was once a novel and desirable way to spend summer has now become mundane. Former excitement and anticipation have been replaced by familiarity and predictability.

Too scared to outright quit – for now – I have relished in my after-hours life: The soccer games that carry on til late. Book club gatherings that pass in what seems like minutes as we alternately howl and then cry over the events in the pages and each other’s lives. Intimate live music events that stir the soul. Intense off-mat conversations at the yoga studio. Raucous apres swim socials that shut down the restaurant.

Ultimately it’s community and rich relationships that have held me as I contemplate next steps. I don’t have an end destination in mind, but I am thrilled to share the journey with so many supporting friends, co-workers, and teammates.

2018 in review

Community.  Deeper than the physical towns of Dawson Creek or Chetwynd, 2018 fostered connections and cemented sense of place.  The workplace was my first community, and point of contact in Dawson Creek.  Taking a sabbatical abruptly tore me out of that supportive environment and I was relegated to isolating online studies.  As I’ve so often done in the past for social, mental, physical, and ultimately athletic support, I leaned on my sports teams and clubs. 

Too scared and injury receptive for game play, I continued to practice with my indoor soccer team, and enthusiastically rejoined them on the outdoor pitch for the summer.  It was another hard-fought fun season with most games carrying on to Boston Pizza for “pizza and pop” where we compared bruises and recounted stellar and botched plays.  The progressive party concluded as we walked each other home. 

The beginning of 2018 presented an unusual opportunity: free lifeguard training.  I attended “tryouts” and was one of 24 accepted from 49.  It wasn’t an exploration I’d seriously considered until it was right in front of me.  Confined to studies by day, it was satisfying to physically work towards something, with what quickly became a close-knit group, in the evenings and eventual weekends.  By the end of our National Lifeguard course in May, I was one of about a dozen to successfully complete the course.  But I still wasn’t an employed lifeguard.  A wet, and then dry interview still awaited where I continued to (out)compete with my cohort for a spot on deck at the local pool.  I have savoured the new working environment – the learning curve has been steep, but I feel well supported and cared for by my fellow guards and swim club teammates.   

My sabbatical was mostly successful.  I received good grades for all the courses I was registered for, but fell short the ultimate reason for the sabbatical, my goal: completing my Registered Professional Forester designation.  Invested since 2015, it’s a goal I feel a sick, perverse even, loyalty to complete, and it’s been fraught with roadblocks, ditches, and fiery dragons.  It’s felt like each step I take forwards, my professional association is waiting in the bushes to kneecap me.  This coupled with general work dissatisfaction and career disappointment has had me deeply questioning my long-term role and plans in the natural resource sector.  Perhaps it’s the notable, uncomfortable even, lack of community at my day job that’s adding to my uncertainty.  I can’t wait to leave at the end of the day and be in familiar embrace of one of my athletic communities.   

Scared? Do it anyways.

My first swimming medal is misleading.  And I’m thrilled to have received it.  Not because I trained hard and outswam my peers (full disclosure: I was dead last), but because I was scared to race and did it anyways.

I was nervous, terrified even, of competing in a sport I haven’t been doing that long, don’t think I’m that good at, and would be subject to the judging eyes of spectators, coaches, officials, and my teammates. 

Yes, I’ve competed in various individual and team sports over the years, but the newness, my lack of confidence and overflowing self-doubt plagued me as I packed my suit, snacks, and sandals for the day: my start resembles a controlled bellyflop, my turns are a comic work-in-progress, I am an older athlete, there were few to none registered in my division. 

But I dutifully drove to the pool in a torrential rainstorm that mirrored my roiling guts.  I asked my coaches and teammates dumb, obvious (to them) questions in an attempt to still my nerves.  Yet I marshalled for my event near tears with nerves, with my swim bestie, an athlete half my age, confidently adjusting her cap beside me. 

I settled down when I stepped on to the blocks.  I’d dove off these during warmup.  I have practiced starts dozens of times in my home pool.  The familiarity was comforting.  First whistle.  Second whistle.  At the horn, we were off in to the glacial-temperature water.  And I swam hard.  Like I meant it, like I wanted it, like no one was watching. 

I touched the wall and looked up at the clock – 15 seconds behind the fastest swimmer, but TWO WHOLE SECONDS off my previous personal best time.  

Showing up, racing, and finishing was alone a feat worthy of celebration, but a personal best time - that validated receiving a medal.  

For you! For you!

The scene: Bonnie Doon hottub

A mentally unwell middle-aged man, Gerry, took a shining to my roommate and I while we waited for noon aquasize to begin. Too hot for the tub, I perched on the side, my legs still in the water. Noticing a scar on my knee, Gerry, put his hand there and started to move north.

Stopping, he points at his erect penis through his trunks and exclaims "For you! For you!"