The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Taupe

That there's snow outside is something of a disappointment. Just three days ago it was warm enough that we didn't need to wear coats, that we sat outside with a plate of strawberries and cups of coffee watching the children play, that I allowed myself to warm inside and believe it was the season for it. Now, snow. I am doing my best to be patient about this, and I know that we got far less of it than other places in the province, but still, it is not amusing. In fact, people protested Mother Nature yesterday, with bus and school cancellations and people calling in sick to work so they wouldn't have to 'risk driving'. Now, to be fair, there is less snow than in say, January. Only four weeks ago it was winter and it was perfectly acceptable to wake up and see the car under a thick quilt of white stuff. Now, though, we've been teased with sun and blooming crocuses and we're in no mood for the return of grey cotton skies and falling snowflakes. We are over it.

I borrowed a book from my sister on the weekend. 'Eat, Pray, Love', by Elizabeth Gilbert, a popular book about spiritual pursuit and awakening. I have actually gifted this book to people but did not read it myself, so I thought it was time. My sister told me that she only got to page forty before she got bored with it, and my other sister said she felt like the writer was 'whining' throughout the book, which annoyed her. Essentially, it follows the spiritual journey of a woman who has everything: the husband, the job and the money. Somehow, she finds herself crying on her bathroom floor every night while her husband sleeps soundly, hating herself and everything about her life, so she prays to whoever might be listening for purpose, and miraculously, she slowly begins to find it. Now, my sisters are not spiritually evolved people, to say the least. They are the kinds of women who are angered in a split-haired second, obsessing over things like which throw pillow coordinates with the walls better, and so on. They have never really understood my interest in learning about spiritual and psychological wellness, though both did the whole baptism, Church thing when their children were born and played good Catholics until the dishes at the after party were cleared. I don't fake it, though. I am actually on a quest for answers about my life and how I should see the world, and I find it exciting and interesting. So, I'm now at about page fifty and I'm liking the book. I don't agree that the writer was a whiner. I think she was just being honest and that she was in a place in her life where things no longer made sense to her. As I said to my sister who was going on about her hatred for the book she admittedly didn't finish, 'I don't think a Minivan would really appreciate it.'

It probably came off as an insult.

But, my sisters actually are Minivans, the kinds of moms who live for their kids, decorate their houses as a hobby, complain about the kids they usually worship, constantly criticize or badger their husbands and who both like to wear taupe. That's who they are and it works for them. I don't fit in very well because I didn't end up with the beer-drinking, sport-watching husband, I wear more black than any other colour, and I love to talk about things like life after death, poetry, the meaning of life and psychic phenomenon. I eat ethnic food, avoid things like hot dogs and chicken wings, love the smell of patchouli, stay up late, write when I should be washing the floor, and the most glaring difference about me now as opposed to who I used to be: I rarely can be heard nagging my partner. They see this as a weakness on my part, a kind of submission, but it couldn't be further from the truth. I don't take much from anyone, and if M. were disrespectful to me or if I thought that he was trying to control me, I'd react accordingly. This is about respecting him and talking to him as an equal, which he is. He is not a moron, and because I love him, I speak to him as though I love him. Where is the submission in this? Sure, we have our differences, but most of them I write about here because sharing them with a Minivan would only result in me being seen as something of a pushover. It might appear this way to women bent on seeing things move in the direction of their choosing, but I call it compromise.

I'm also part Minivan, admittedly. I like things to be in order, and I can come across a bit complusive about how quickly the dishes should go into the dishwasher. I like dinner to be at seven, without fail, and I hate that M. never remembers to put his shoes away. It actually pains me. This is sort of where it ends, though. I don't get the need to sign my kid up for playgroups or soccer, though I might do something like this soon, moreso for her than myself. I would rather read in bed or have heavy conversation over coffee in a cafe than go to a barbeque in the neighbour's backyard. My idea of a vacation is going to Europe to meander through graveyards rather than baking in the sun on a tropical beach. It used to be that my not fitting in was an embarrassment, but now I see it is a good thing. I'm almost freaking proud of myself for it. I drive a compact car and love it. M. drives a hybrid car and he loves it. We don't understand SUV's or the strange cult of Minivan worshippers who insist they're necessary when you have a child. We manage just fine.

I am not superior to my siblings. I know this. What bothers me is that they seem to think they're superior to me. They think I'm a flake, that I'm 'different', when really what distinguishes me from them is my insatiable curiosity. I want to know things. I am curious about myself and the world and what role I play in it. I have been in a phase of self-discovery for years now, and it's been slow and sometimes painful, but it hasn't been boring. I find 'spirituality' exciting because it's not about religion, and it isn't really about believing in a deity. It's about finding happiness, and what could be strange or flaky about that? What is strange is willingly staying in a state of miserable unconsciousness just because it's what everyone else appears to be doing. That would be slightly...taupe. I liken myself to a stubborn butterfly who only sometimes makes an effort to emerge from the cocoon. I thought I was okay as a caterpillar, but I have come to see that I could cover more territory if I allow myself to fly. This metamorphosis is taking ages, but I'm hopeful I'll like the colours in my wings once I finally let go of who I used to think I was.

Will you find me at an ashram in India at any point soon? Not likely, but then, you should never say never. I used to use that word a lot and it always ended up making me look foolish. I make a point of sidestepping it now because I've felt enough stupid in my life to this point.

I've come to realize that I have always measured my self-worth through the eyes of others and that it was wrong to do so. I am slowly beginning to understand that my life can be what I want it to be, and that perhaps some of my rampant anxiousness was about the conflict of emotions I had about living in a world which didn't make sense to me. Why can't we do what we want as long as it hurts no one in the process? While everyone I am associated with often talks about 'doing what makes you happy', they don't really mean it. What they mean is: do what makes you happy as along as it is the acceptable thing to do. When I split from R., that was the first thing I ever did that nearly everyone around me said was a mistake. Now, I'm happier with my partner than I've ever been, and I live a life which is more in line with what I intrinsically need. I need money, yes, and I regularly complain about how I am not yet 'legally bound' to M. but these are essentially my only complaints with him. He listens. He understands. He is a thinker. The idea that a relationship has to be perfect before you can proclaim your partner the 'right one' is stupid. Being able to appreciate the other person in the midst of a disagreement is what keeps things moving forward. He's the right one, I feel. I made a decision from inside myself and I shut the critics out. I'm actually kind of proud of myself for that, if you want to know the truth. I don't often let myself consider what my life would like if I'd chosen to stay where I was. I'm too far away from it now and thinking about it only serves to frighten me. From here, the past looks a lot darker than I remember it being.

So, the book. I'll finish it, and I might even like it and if I say as much, my sisters will either be surprised or they will nod and roll their eyes at one another as if to say 'yeah, she would.' Whatever. It is beginning to mean less and less to me what they think, and that's a good thing.

I am not feeling zen about all the cold and snow, though. I am feeling really, really pissed off, actually.