Solidarity Sunday #4: Coping – Part One

“…patience and perseverance generally enable mankind to overcome things which, at first sight, appear impossible. Indeed, what is there above man’s exertions?”

– George Borrow, Lavengro

How is everybody doing? Hanging in there OK? Can anyone believe we have been in the grips of this pandemic, at least here in Canada, for half a year already?

As I’ve written in previous posts, the last six months have been hard. I recognize fully that my Covid experience has been incredibly privileged compared to the vast majority of humanity. To start, I have a roof over my head. I’m warm, dry, fed, healthy, safe and am able to bubble up with at least part of our family. Both my husband and I have been able to keep bringing in paychecks and we have only one dependent who is an infant and therefore does not need to be homeschooled (I’m not supposed to be schooling an 8-month-old…right?). So, yes, all things considered, my situation could be much MUCH worse.

However, none of these privileges can fully combat the fact that we are living through a global pandemic, and one that looks on track to last a while longer (PSA: Wear your masks, people!). Not only is the isolation and fear crushing some days but learning to parent while not having access to our much-beloved support networks has been much harder than I could have possibly imagined. Yes, now we have at least one set of grandparents and a few uncles and aunts in our bubble able to help but that leaves two sets of grandparents, many uncles and aunts, and the rest of our extended family largely out of our daughter’s life for the time being. And this alone is, well, heartbreaking. As I wrote in a previous post, this is not in any way, shape, or form what I envisioned for the first year of Aria’s life. Not by a long shot.

Don’t worry, though, dear reader! This post is not meant to be all doom and gloom. I am actually going to offer below some coping mechanisms that seemed to have worked to largely bring me back to a place of calm and positivity in the midst of so much chaos and negativity. I hope they will help someone, anyone, to find even just a little bit of light in the darkness but, remember, it is still OK to not be OK. Take a deep breath. We will get through this, together.

Continue reading “Solidarity Sunday #4: Coping – Part One”

Solidarity Sunday #3 – Mental Health

Moments like this act as magical interludes placing our hearts at the edge of our souls: fleetingly, yet intensely, a fragment of eternity has come to enrich time. Elsewhere the world may be blustering or sleeping, wars are fought, people live and die, some nations disintegrate, while others are born, soon to be swallowed up in turn – and in all this sound and fury, amidst eruptions and undertows, while the world goes its merry way, bursts into flames, tears itself apart and is reborn: human life continues to throb.” Muriel Barbery, The Elegance of the Hedgehog

How is everyone doing?

We are now, let’s see, 6 months into COVID-19 self-isolation measures. Half. A. Year. How is this possible? How can it possibly feel like no time at all has passed while also simultaneously seeming like we’ve been in isolation forever? Is this how hermits feel all the time? The mind boggles.

Like many others, I have struggled during this time to keep on top of the many productive tasks I set out to consistently chip away at despite having what appears at first blush to be an unlimited stretch of time laid out before me each morning.

Wait, scratch that, who am I kidding? I have a 6.5-month-old daughter…I wake up before the sun and by the time I catch a moment to take a deep breath that same sun is somehow on its way down again. I wonder if the days feel as unreasonably short to a baby as well.

Motherhood aside, as this is not what I wished to post about tonight, I can summarize the last few months in one single word: Rough.

Continue reading “Solidarity Sunday #3 – Mental Health”

Solidarity Sunday #2 – Family

“For where all love is, the speaking is unnecessary. It is all. It is undying. And it is enough.”

– Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

I hope you will forgive me, dear reader, for not posting this yesterday…Easter spent without family was rougher than I expected (especially as it was my daughter’s first Easter) but I’m hoping writing this today will help ease the pain. If only just a little.

Continue reading “Solidarity Sunday #2 – Family”

Numbers VS Individual Stories

Without individuals we see only numbers: a thousand dead, a hundred thousand dead, ‘casualties may rise to a million.’ With individual stories, the statistics become people – but even that is a lie, for the people continue to suffer in numbers that themselves are numbing and meaningless.”

Neil Gaiman, American Gods

Fair warning – this post is long, gets a little dark at times and there are no visuals – besides the unrelated cover photo – but, if you’ll see it to the end, I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

After the shock of our first Canadian WWII cemetery, Dad and I were headed to Caen for what we hoped would be a welcome respite from all the doom and gloom of the innumerable graves, memorials, and listed dead. Unfortunately, even a visit to one of France’s large cities was not to be without its sorrowful moments.

Upon arriving in Caen we realized that it was, well, enormous compared to the places we had visited thus far. With a population over 117,000, it was almost overwhelming in its size after all the quaint villages and towns we had frequented during the trip thus far. Rather than enticing us, however, the clamouring and never-ceasing din of the city made it unlikely that our stay would be a very long one, especially after the emotional toil of the morning.

We parked as close to the center as we could get without getting lost, in the Place de la Resistance (or was it Republique? Or both? Are these interchangeable? Same thing, different Era?) by the enormous golden statue of Joan of Arc.

A few wrong turns on foot later (story of our largely mapless trip…) we stumbled unexpectedly upon the Abbaye aux Dames which happened to be, luckily, one of the two places I really wanted to see in this city.

I know, I know, another old church. But this one was commissioned by Queen Matilda herself! William the Conqueror’s wife, and a formidable woman in her own right of course. Not only that but she was also buried in this fortress of a holy place making it hallowed ground on which I very much wished to walk.

I can see the grounds and the magnificent building in my minds eye even if I cannot find my photos of the place. The spires reached towards the sky climbing to dizzying heights while the high ceilings and cool stone walls inside made for a calming, if a bit ostentatious, atmosphere. There is something about walking through an old stone church and running your hands along the always slightly damp-feeling walls which makes one contemplate who else might have once walked a similar path, or rested a feverish forehead against these same stones in prayer. I know I for one feel my breath begin to slow the moment I step under the archway into these places – the air hangs heavy with both time and incense, inviting me to quiet reflexion. It really is a most beautiful experience.

Tearing ourselves away from this place of rest, we made our way over to a building that would prove to be, quite literally, the complete opposite: the castle. Walking across the bridge towards the towering walls of stone, we could only imagine how intimidating this would have looked close to 1000 years ago when barely any of the city as we saw it existed. Majestic and awe- or dread-inspiring, I would bet, depending on the reason for your visit.

As we got closer to the impressively tall walls, I couldn’t help but notice the damage they had sustained at some point in time. Now, some of it may have been age…granted. Much of the castle was afterall over a thousand years old. But it didn’t look like that to me. It looked somehow more sinister…deliberate. I tried to shake these thoughts and focus instead on the visit ahead but they remained foremost in my mind throughout our exploration – and with good reason, I would soon learn.

Once we had entered through the strategically claustrophobic front gate, the inner courtyard of the castle was actually quite expansive. We looked around a little and realised there were two exhibitions on that required payment in two of the castle’s interior buildings (including the keep) but that, other than these, it was completely free to walk around. Since one of the exhibitions was on art and the other, rather randomly, on Neanderthals, we chose instead to just look around. We were also running out of time if we wanted to avoid looking for our next B&B in the dark…

One of the most incredible discoveries made, as per our M.O., entirely by accident was that of a plaque commemorating the Canadians who fought to liberate the city of Caen during the incredibly bloody Battle of Normandy. It was both unexpected and moving to find such a heartfelt thank you to our countrymen in the heart of this historical city. I’m always surprised to find any mention of our relatively young county in the midst of such ancient settlements.

After spending a moment or two (not longer since we were largely emotionally spent by this point) thinking of all the men who had to die in order for this memory to be made in the first place, we moved on to the oldest part of the castle at the back.

We were rather disappointed that the one building we wanted to explore was completely locked. It was the oldest building on the grounds and the only complete example of a medieval reception hall in France. I’m not even sure of what we would have found inside but, damnit, we wanted to explore it so badly. The exterior of this historic building, however, would have to do.

Moving past this there was a walled-in area which had been excavated by some university archaeologists in the past 5 years or so. We could see the crumbling knee-high remains of the castle’s ancient fortifications (dungeon, castle, keep, etc…) pushing through the dirt. It was fascinating to see such obviously levelled ruins inside another structure that was so much more intact.

It was only upon reading the panel accompanying the ruins that I realized not all of them were as old as they looked. Though all of the fortifications uncovered were built by William the Conqueror’s nephew (side-note: my goodness that man and his family really left their mark on this city), they were not all destroyed at the same time. Many of them had been destroyed periodically starting hundreds of years ago but the last, the chapel, had only been raised during the bombardments of WWII.

This discovery also explained the more recent scars I had also noticed in the outer walls – no wonder they had caught my eye. And yet, they had resulted from even more sinister a purpose than I could have guessed.

You see, this 1000-year-old chapel that had survived years and years of warfare, rebellions and goodness knows what else, did indeed succumb to the heavy bombardment of the 20th century’s industrial warfare. However, despite what you might be thinking, it wasn’t the Nazis who committed this crime against history and humanity (though I’m sure they committed plenty such crimes over the course of the occupation). No, this historic landmark was not felled by ‘enemy fire’, but instead by the heavy-handed shelling perpetrated by the allies in preparation for their storming of Caen during the Battle of Normandy.

For me, this ruined chapel starkly represented what must have been at least hundreds if not thousands of civilian casualties in the ‘martyred city’ before its…liberation? I think it is an amazing indication of the resilience of the French people that they welcomed the allies in at all after the chaos and trauma that rained down on them courtesy of their ostensible liberators.

All these years later, I have done a bit more digging into the civilian experience of the Battle for Caen that led to the destruction of much of the city – not to mention wreaked havoc on the lives of so many innocents, if it didn’t end them outright. Finally, after several weeks where I barely had the energy to recall my emotions from this trip let alone come up with even a remotely fascinating obscure historical fact, I have somewhat of a gem for you.

In the days leading up to the allied bombardment of Caen, leaflets were dropped on the city to warn the residents of the carnage that was to come. Apparently these leaflets read something along the lines of, “The vital objective near which you find yourself will be continuously attacked. . . . Leave now! You don’t have a minute to lose.” How terrified must these people have been waking up to such a dire warning? Can you imagine walking out your front door and having a paper drop into your hand telling you to leave as soon as possible so as to escape your otherwise inevitable demise? Even if you were able to leave quickly and safely, you would have most assuredly been leaving behind the majority of your belongings, among them far more sentimental items then you could possibly carry with you. And yet, this is what so many of Caen’s citizens were expected to do days before their city would be almost blown from existence. 

And leave many of them did. Leading me to my long-awaited (you await these, right?)…

Random Historical Fact #19

While I am sure there is so much more I could learn about this exodus, I found this Los Angeles Time article from 2008 which detailed at least one part of this harrowing experience. Apparently, since they had so little time to get to safety (not to mention – where was safe from fighting in Normandy after D-Day?), many people fled to the limestone quarries just outside the city to hunker down and, hopefully, survive this stage of the war. After witnessing the horrific occupation of their country by the Nazis, I can only imagine what they must have been thinking when their saviors made their grand entrance by laying their homes to waste. Some liberation – which is better? I assume most would answer freedom…but at what cost? I won’t recount the whole article here but it does tell the story of one young boy, only 7 at the time, who hid in a deep hole with his family for weeks while his home was subjected to an unknown fate. The boy, Gerard Mangnan, survived but his 18-year-old brother died. Having ventured out to steal some German ammunition, he had missed the entry rope and fallen to his death in his haste to escape the wrath of German bullets. Most of the boy’s memories, however, seem to center not on suffering (the blessing of childhood innocence?) but on the odd organized society that emerged as thousands of families waited out the war in their sunless shetler. Mangnan particularly recalls the Canadian troops that once visited bringing peace offerings of gum and biscuits. On a slightly darker note, however, he also recalled that the only way some of them knew that another day had passed was when the small patch of blue sky at the entrance to their refuge turned dark. Yet another young life turned upside-down (though, thankfully, at least not snuffed out) by that awful conflict.

The amount of people who took shelter in these caves is astounding – roughly one third of Caen’s pre-war population of 60,000. The only image I can conjure to try and comprehend the sheer number of refugees crammed into the quarry’s network of tunnels is the scene in The Two Towers when the people of Rohan huddle in the caves behind Helms Deep while their men defend them from an army of ruthless Uruk-hai – completely unaware if the next beings to walk through the doors to the caves would be friend (and therefore safety) or foe (and therefore certain death). I imagine that Caen’s citizens huddled similarly in their family units, shuddering as bomb after bomb fell outside, wondering if the cave ceilings would hold…and, if they did, what kind of world might greet them once they finally emerged from what was both a sanctuary and a prison.

Knowing that, despite the successful evacuation of one third of the population, the allied bombardment of Caen was to nonetheless exact a heavy human toll on the people of that once beautiful city, I feel it is important to learn as much as we can about the individuals who were there – both the victims and the survivors. This is the only way to turn the dry and ultimately incomprehensible statistics of military history into something human beings can understand and therefore empathize with. If we do not make an effort to do so, as Mr. Gaiman said (I’m paraphrasing a little), these individual stories will be washed away by the tsunami of suffering still experienced by so many souls…becoming numbing and meaningless statistics once more.

I have more to say about Caen and then Bayeux-by-night but I think I should really leave this post there. I know that without photos this was a long one to read and, if you have made it this far, I thank you sincerely for trusting that this was worth your while.

I’ll be back next week for Travel Tuesdays, I promise.

Until then, despite how hard these days are, remember…Life is Beautiful

xo Erin

Solidarity Sunday #1 : Time

Frodo: I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.
Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

– J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

We’ll appreciate them so much more when this is all over. What will we appreciate, you ask? I didn’t really have one single thing in mind when I chose the word them. Fill in the blank: When COVID-19 has been vanquished, I will finally and truly appreciate _____________. Regardless of what your answer was (family, friends, restaurants, crowded shopping malls, travel, work, your annoying neighbour who comes by to borrow sugar every day), it’s true, isn’t it? When this is all over, everything – even the things we profess to dislike or even hate, will be somehow less odious. Because right now, they are simply not within our reach.

Right now, we are all on lockdown, unsure of when the rules and regulations will be lifted, unsure of what life will look like when it goes back to “normal”.

It’s as fascinating as it is frustrating that this has been hard on us all. During a normal workweek, the prospect of being told to stay home with our families for a few days would be a godsend to many of us – a chance to rest and recuperate. 

But the undefined, seemingly unending nature of this quarantine is different from a mental health break or a vacation. So very different.

Families convene by skype, blowing kisses through the screen. Grocery stores are an oasis, their shelves sanitized on a nightly basis in anticipation of the touch of an unknowingly-infected hand the following morning. Food packaging is left on the front porch, cleaned and cleaned again before being allowed through the hallowed front doors. Swing-sets and slides are cordoned off to discourage those too arrogant or foolhardy to respect the simple request to stay home. 

If you really think about it, unless home is not a safe place for you, we are being asked to do the one thing we should desire naturally: spend time at home with our loved ones. But the lack of control, of choice, makes this simple act a painful one.

What will the day be like when restrictions are lifted and we can once again be free to shake hands, to high-five, to hug our loved ones? Will we be filled with joy or fear that this isn’t really over…not forever? How long will it take for this to fade from memory? For the COVID-19 scare to feel like a dream?

I don’t know the answer but I hope this day is soon, and that the suffering to get there remains minimal. One can hope.

But as for this time, this time that has been given to us (whether you think it is a gift or not), we, for the most part, have the freedom to decide what to do with it. Not, it’s not the freedom we are used to but those of us who are lucky enough to have a roof over our heads and ready access to food (and toilet paper) still have a freedom of sorts.

So, will you bemoan the times you are living through? Or will you make of them what you will, what you can, assuming you and your loved ones remain healthy (andI hope they do)?

For my part, I am working on finding the light in the dark, the hope in the sorrow, the sunshine in the rain and the rainbows between the clouds. Soon, oh so soon, these oppositions won’t seem so stark, so dire.

But, for now, let’s take the positive where we can find it.

This too shall pass and what you will remember, dear reader, is what you did with the time that was given to you.

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There is always light in the darkness – sometimes it just may be harder to see.

And, remember, life is beautiful…especially when you STAY HOME

PS. This is hard. This is not normal. This is a pandemic. It is OK to not be OK. All I ask is that, for your sake and the sake of your loved ones, you do what you can to take care of your mental health. For me, writing and focusing on the positive are my coping methods. Yours may be different. Don’t listen to anyone telling you you’re doing it wrong. This is unprecedented for our generation, as long as you’re taking care of you and yours in the best way that you can, it is not possible for you to do it wrong…what do they know? Have they lived through a pandemic before? You do you.


Aside from the Travel Tuesday blogs I usually post weekly (OK, OK, sometimes I post them on Wednesdays…) I’m thinking of writing these Solidarity Sunday posts every week while this self-isolation period is going on. Let me know what you think!

Great Deeds and Noble Sorrows

“Not a day passes on over this earth but men and women of no great note do great deeds, speak great words, and suffer noble sorrows.”Charles Reade, The Cloister and the Hearth

Last week I took a very necessary break from blogging for the sake of my mental health. Though my husband, daughter and I, along with our entire family, are thankfully healthy, this COVID-19 business has been more than a little trying on my emotions. I think it would be a different story if I wasn’t a new mom (although I know it is difficult for nearly everyone for wildly different reasons) but being separated from our extended family while still adjusting to parenthood, well, let me tell you it has not been easy. They are our support system, our replacement rockers, our “take a breather and some time for just the two of you” superheroes. We are making sure to take turns soothing our little daughter but sometimes having a third party come in and take a shift can be the most rejuvenating gift. Our strategy while self-isolation is the name of the game is just to take it one day at a time and to allow ourselves to choose how we spend each day based on what we need most each moment – no to-do lists or goals set in stone. Last week, I needed to just relax and read as much as possible, so that is what I did. I hope, dear reader, that you’ll forgive me.

So. Back to France.

Continue reading “Great Deeds and Noble Sorrows”

Time Travel and Amateur Inspection

“Would history be there for her to see, or would it all have been tidied away? Was it fair to expect that sixty years after an event – on the whim of someone who had shown no previous interest – a country would dutifully reveal its past to her amateur inspection?”Sebastian Faulks, Birdsong

The quote above from my book of words spoke to me after I had read through my journal entry from November 4th, 2015. Though the places we visited that day were much older than 60, and had far longer memories, much of their history was indeed tidied away…and showed no interest in revealing their secrets to me. A bit of research all these years later has shined some lights on a few things but I have so many questions! Regardless, though I do not have all the information to fill the glaring holes in this post, the show, er, blog must go on.

Continue reading “Time Travel and Amateur Inspection”

Tantalizing Histories

“In town, there was silence bled into by whispered talk” – Elizabeth Hay, Alone in the Classroom

Today is the day I finally return to my retelling of the trip I took to France with my Dad back in 2015. Fingers crossed I can actually finish this story in a timely fashion! The last travelogue took me, what, a few years? In an attempt to get this done in a timely manner…this post is a long one. Fair warning.

Recommitting to writing for what feels like the 1000th time isn’t easy but, hey, it’s bound to stick sometime. At least that’s what I keep telling myself every time I miss a day of writing for whatever reason. One of my resolutions this year was to try to put less pressure on myself when it comes to achieving non-essential goals. My husband will tell you I consistently keep a daily to-do list of more than 10 things I want to achieve, which would be fine if I didn’t get anxious, stressed and incredibly emotional when I don’t achieve each and every one of these goals. Since these negative feelings are often accompanied with a whole heck of a lot of self-criticism, I’m trying to make it easier for me to achieve my goals as a way to feel more accomplished and less self-critical. And if I don’t achieve one or more of the things on my list one day, or even several days in a row, so be it! I mean, I am a new mom and only human, for goodness sake.

All this to say, this is me attempting to return to a weekly post on here at a minimum. I can’t promise I’ll achieve this every week, but you better believe I’m going to try. And if it doesn’t happen? I’m not going to beat myself up. I hope you, dear reader, won’t be too disappointed either.

So, back to France, then.

Continue reading “Tantalizing Histories”

Time Stands Still

There were moments, of course. Those small spaces of time, too soon gone, when everything seems to stand still, and existence is balanced on a perfect point, like the moment of change between the dark and the light, when both and neither surround you.” – Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

Hello World!

I feel as if nearly every post on here this past year has begun with some kind of apology for being away for so long. And this one, unfortunately, is no different. Though writing is one of the great loves of my life and I am trying to figure out a system by which time is regularly spent tuning into this aspect of my person, I do feel the need to cut myself some slack for what has honestly been a few lackluster years as far as writing is concerned.

You see…though I mean it when I say that writing is one of the loves of my life, the last few years have been spent discovering the others – my other great loves: my husband and my daughter.

In 2019 alone, Louis and I got married, I left a job that was no longer fulfilling me, we found out I was pregnant with our first child, and we bought our family home where we are now living (happily ever after).

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Credit: Saidia Photography. Hire her. Seriously.

I would say this would constitute a pretty big year for anyone. Even still, I managed to return to my writing here and there as things periodically and briefly slowed down – as evidenced by my sporadic posts on this blog. But it wasn’t enough. The writer in me never felt satisfied.

Protest as she might, however, my inner writer needed to be patient just a little longer as the biggest change – the biggest of all I’d say – led me to ignore her completely for the last few months of 2019 all the way until today.

I’d like to think that despite her constant niggling at my self-conscious brain, my radio silence was warranted by the best possible reason. On January 27th at 11:44AM in the morning, Louis and I welcomed our first child into the world: Aria Adele.

Baby Savski November 2019
This is the closest I will get to posting her face on here. But look at that adorable nose!

Before I continue this post, however, I should probably write something of a disclaimer regarding my photo policy for any posts written about motherhood or our parenting journey – and this does not constitute any judgment of how other parents choose to do things. As far as public platforms go, I will not be posting any photos of Aria’s face, even though she is incredibly cute and I am dying to show her off. Louis and I made this decision as neither of us are huge into social media and we want Aria to be able to make her own choices about her social media presence, or lack thereof when she’s older. Apologies ahead of time for depriving you of baby photos!

But back to why Aria’s birth at the end of January led to me ostracizing this poor writer for the first part of this year. Not that I need to explain myself, of course, but the writer is demanding compensation for being ignored for so long.

Leading up to Aria’ birth, I was exhausted and impatient. Daily. Though I had continued to exercise every day all the way into my 8th month of pregnancy, the last bit kicked my ass for lack of a better way to describe the experience. Despite sleeping more than I think I have since my teenage years, I was tired. All. The. Time. Everything became a chore – even the activities I had always found to be both rejuvenating and relaxing. Writing, reading, yoga, even socializing were abandoned one-by-one until I was left lounging on the couch day in, day out half-heartedly bingeing various shows that continued to feel like fillers regardless of how good they were objectively. I felt like time was somehow crawling and racing forward at the speed of light simultaneously and the sensation made my head spin. 

Everyone always tells you to enjoy your time as a couple during your first pregnancy before two permanently becomes three but no one added the caveat that enjoying the last few weeks of my pregnancy journey would be so hard. Each morning seemed to bleed into evening and I didn’t have the energy to do much other than get myself up from the couch once in a while to go to the bathroom. Louis was wonderful and kind and understanding to a fault, and he will tell you he relished the chance to take care of me without me bounding around doing 40 things at once, but my lethargic state didn’t allow for us to do much together other than watch episodes and read from the baby book once he got home from work every day. Before I knew it, and without having “made the most” of our last few weeks together per say, Aria’s due date had come and gone and then…well then the impatience set in. 

I know, I know, everyone knows first babies are late. And I had told myself time and again that she would be two weeks late since that’s the longest most OBs will let you go before they will induce you – but this didn’t make the waiting any easier. As a first time Mom, I had no idea what to look for in terms of labour symptoms and so every single cramp, ache, heck even bowel movement, was taken as a sign that it was “go time”. And it never was. No matter what I tried, it seemed, whether it was bouncing on a yoga ball or forcing myself out for a walk or eating my weight in dates, this baby was not budging.

In fact, Aria held on as long as they would let her: I was induced 11 days past her due date of January 15th. And even with all that waiting, when they inserted the cervidil in the hospital on the late afternoon of the 26th they gave me the following warning: it would likely take 24 hours minimum to kick in. In fact, they would likely need to dose me again the next evening with the hope that things would get within 48 hours or so. However, they added in passing, there is a slim possibility you could hyper react. But that isn’t likely. See you in 24 hours.

Well, world, guess what. 

We left the hospital at 5:30PM that day and by 10:30PM I was back having gone from 0 to 60 without warning: I was contracting every minute leaving me barely any time to catch my breath.

I won’t go into too much detail about what transpired over the next 12 hours but suffice it to say nothing went according to plan. But does it ever? Maybe I’ll actually learn this lesson some day.

Even with all of the complications that ensued, however, I agree with every Mom you’ve ever asked about childbirth (I’m not the only one who has always been curious about this, right?). It was all, all of it, worth it. Every second.

Because when all was said and done, when the pain and the fear dissipated at the end of the longest road I have ever walked, time stood still – just for a moment. In my arms was this perfect little girl, the most beautiful creature I could have ever imagined. And she was ours, our child. Our newest love. As I gazed at her precious face and cradled her tiny body against my chest, everything that had transpired suddenly made sense. All of the exhaustion, the nausea, the impatience, the pain, there was a purpose for all of it: her. Aria’s little hand stroked my collarbone and I knew, I just knew, everything was going to be OK.

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The road was long, but the destination so worth it.

My existence in this moment was indeed balanced on a perfect point – no matter what came next, the highs and the lows, the light and the dark, I knew Louis and I would be able to face whatever it was because now we had someone depending on us to see everything through. 

Those small spaces of time, her first moments earthside, were soon over (too soon it seems) and the weeks that followed were hard, filled with moments of both joy and frustration. But what brought us through was this little human who doesn’t even yet know the love she has inspired in us.

I’m still going to continue posting about my travels, I promise, but I hope you won’t mind the occasional post about motherhood because, well, I have a feeling this might be my new passion.

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Just a teaser for one of my future posts: Vegas! Grand Canyon! Death Valley! Oh My!

Until next week, remember…

Life is beautiful.

xo Erin

Resolving 2020

Who you are is defined by the next decision you make, not the last one” – Rachel Hollis, Girl, Stop Apologizing

Hello dear readers, if you are indeed still out there. It’s been a few days. OK, it’s been over a month, but who’s counting?

I am, to be honest. And I’ve been struggling really hard not to spend a good chunk of my time every day beating myself up at least a little for how much I have allowed my writing goals to take a back seat this year (and I’m talking the back seat of a 747, not a mini-cooper).

When I actually allow myself to pause for a minute and attempt to cut myself some slack, however, I find myself reflecting on what actually happened this past year that pushed writing from the priority I wanted it to be to the “wouldn’t it be nice” archival section of my brain. Not only did I get married in June, in a largely DIY-wedding (shout-out to our wedding party of 20 people and all of the family and friends who made this possible), but I also became pregnant with our first child (due in mid-January), bought a house, got a new job, and moved out of Ottawa (the city where I was born-and-raised). Any one of these things could potentially throw a resolution or two out of whack but all of them? Suffice it to say pretty much every single resolution I wrote about in my last New Years themed post was successfully defenestrated somewhere between January and December of 2019. 

But here’s the funny thing about resolutions: they are entirely self-imposed. No one, and I mean no one, is going to judge you for not achieving them. Even if you’re the type of person who shouts their 10 New Years Resolutions from the proverbial rooftops, by the time the first week of January has passed even the people who love you most have already forgotten what exactly you had set out to do with your new year. And by December? Most people don’t even remember their own resolutions, why would they remember – and thus judge you for not achieving – yours?

So, recognizing that I am by far my own harshest critic, I have been working hard to focus not on what I didn’t do this year but instead on what I did. I’d say playing a huge role in pulling off an enormous bilingual wedding is a pretty solid start. Growing a human? Not unimpressive. Finding a new job in a completely new niche and making it my own? Fairly notable. Buying and helping to set up a new family home? At least worth a smile and a pat on the back. 

These accomplishments are nothing to sniff at and I need to remind myself daily of how much has transpired this year and, yes, even marvel for a minute at the fact that I am still smiling despite the months of stress and constant anticipation for the next big thing.

Even if nothing about my hectic version of 2019 resonates with you, I bet the following observation will. Along with all the specific achievements I listed above, and even more than any of them or all of them combined, the aspect that I find most remarkable is my ability to dream up a new list of resolutions even after my last ones crashed and burned so spectacularly. I mean, how incredible is the human spirit that even after setting goals and getting nowhere near the finish line on any of them, we can resolve anew to better certain aspects of our life in the coming year? I could just as easily tell myself resolutions were simply not for me and give up on the idea entirely (and, indeed, if resolutions are not your thing, no judgment! To each their own), but instead I sit down at my desk yet again and put pen to paper to determine what my big goals are for the year. Never doubt the power of perseverance, even when it seems most futile. Something is bound to stick at some point!

So, as far as 2020 is concerned, I have decided to narrow down my resolutions to three big ones in the three main areas of my life where I want to see improvement (you know, while I simultaneously learn to be a parent…):

  1. Mental Health: This year, I would like to explore my coping mechanisms for stress and anxiety (meditation, reading, exercise – especially yoga, time with loved ones, entertainment, writing) and put into place a game plan for when I am feeling overwhelmed or panicky. 
  2. Fitness: This year, I would like to return to my bare minimum of doing yoga every single day (once I am recovered from childbirth that is) and add exercise from there. Even with a kid, if I could get back to exercising every day of the week, say just for 20 minutes some days, I know I can get back to a place where I feel strong and healthy and comfortable in my own skin.
  3. Career: Finally, this year I aim to take the leap to put myself out there as a writer and editor. I know I have the ability, I just have to have the courage to try. Even if my efforts only produce enough recognition and payment to provide some extra cushion to our budget, I can say I am getting paid to do what I love. How cool would that be?

So there you have it, three broad goals for 2020 to put myself firmly on the path I have strived to walk all my life: one that leads to a happy, healthy and fulfilled existence I can be proud of. The lack of specificity was entirely on purpose, by the way. I have found in the past that setting specific goals (I.e.: I resolve to not have a single panic attack this year or I will write for 30 minutes every day) tends to encourage making excuses for why I cannot check that box off on this particular day until a month goes by without any real progress. I find the more broad I make my resolutions, the more likely I am to chip away at them instead of allow them to hang intimidatingly above my head. 

Ultimately, I am trying to look forward as much as possible instead of back – to define myself by my current and future decisions, not my past excuses. I have no idea if this new strategy will be successful but I do know it is worth a shot.

So, what resolutions have you set out for yourself this year (if any)? What’s your take on what kind of resolutions are most successful? I’d love to hear more perspectives on this.

I promise I will return to my France trip on my next post, thank you for indulging this little tradition of mine for my last post of 2019.

And remember, whether you succeed in your resolve or not, life is beautiful.

xo Erin