Nature Wants us to be Mediocre

Nature wants us to be mediocre because we have a greater chance to survive and reproduce. Mediocre is as close to the bottom as it is to the top, and will give you a lousy life.

~ Lululemon

I got them out – my stitches that is. It had been a full two weeks and it seemed as though the day would never come. I had injured myself on November 22, while trialing a new activity for Activity Hanmer. They needed the staff and volunteer backpackers at the Forest Camp to help them test their new activity prior to actually putting it in place for customers. Seemed pretty straightforward at the time.

In an Amazing Race style, we were meant to decipher our first clue which would send us to a new location and a new clue, continuing the game until we had found all the clues and completed all the challenges. I happened to take it a step further. On the first clue, we had to head down to the stream at the back of the camp, me – in my flip flops – deciding to running down the steep hill to get to the stream rather than head around the corner to take a more gradual route. All was going fine until I hit the bottom of the hill and slipped on some mud – I fell forward and banged my knee. After a quick look down, I realized I had torn my leggings and had mud all over. Perfect.

I continued with the activity, running all around the forest and eventually back to the camp, forgetting about my incident with my knee until someone pointed it out with a clever line such as “oh – look at your knee.” I looked down a second time and immediately waved off their worries – there was only a minor amount of blood – most of the mess was a gapping hole in my leggings and caked on mud. There was barely any pain so I continued to conclude that I had most likely jus t grazed myself. I figured I’d finish the activity and then clean up once done. And so I did.

Nearly three hours after the incident, I walked home, a smile on my face at the absurdity of the challenges we had to complete. Once inside, I figured it was time to clean the mud off my knees and assess the damage. In pulling off my leggings, I quickly realized that I hadn’t simply grazed my knee as I had first thought. Somehow I had cut open a chunk of flesh and it now hung off my shin like a flap. Inside the wound was incredibly dirty, muddled with pieces of rock, mud and plant material. I knew it needed stitches and I knew I needed it cleaned, but I didn’t know much more than that. So I called Sandy, the Forest Camp’s Assistant Manager, to come help me out.

As Sandy also lived at the camp with her husband, it didn’t take long for her to arrive. Immediately I knew I had made the right choice. Having worked with the New Zealand ambulance service, Sandy took charge of the situation right away. I was in good hands.

Most of the dirt and debris at this point was so well ingrained into the wound that the only way Sandy and I could figure out how to clean it was to run a bath and soak the wound so that it would soften enough to brush the foreign material away. The only reason we were opting to do it ourselves was because the medical centre was closed for the day and our only other point of medical contact was to phone 111 for emergency services. This was hardly an emergency. I would have to clean it as best I could, bandage it and go to the medical centre first thing in the morning. Nothing like living in a small town.

And so we soaked the wound. Pretty soon things started to break loose and float away, making me feel more confident that things would be okay. The grayish looking skin on the inside of the wound was worrying me a bit though. But there was nothing I could do until the morning. Once Sandy and I determined there was nothing more we could clear from the wound, I hopped out of the bath and she bandaged me up. Surprisingly, I still felt minimal pain from everything that had happened. I only hoped things would stay that way so I could get some sleep.

The following morning I hobbled my way across the camp to the office. It was to be one of our busiest days at the camp and I didn’t want to sit at home being useless while the medical centre had yet to open. And so I sat in reception with my leg propped up as I answered phones so Sandy and her husband, Graeme, ran around organizing school groups to leave so that the new ones could arrive. Once the medical centre opened, I gave them a ring to see when I could come in – I didn’t see any sense in just showing up only to have to sit and wait hours when I could help out a bit longer at the camp. The receptionist checked the schedule and offered me an appointment at either 9:20 a.m. or 3:00 p.m. I am not even sure why she would have thought I would take the later one as I had already explained to her my situation. So 9:20 a.m. it was.

Eventually it was time to go and Graeme drove me down to the medical centre and dropped me off. I checked in and as I was sitting in the waiting room to be called, the receptionist came to me to inform me that because of my situation, the appointment I was booked in for was too short (10 minutes) and she was afraid that there wouldn’t be enough time to do the stitches and such. Would it be possible for me to come back later in the afternoon?

I think I sat there with my gapping open at her question as how was I supposed to answer that? An open wound (surely infected by this point) needed to be tended to on my leg and I was being asked if I could come back later as they were too busy to see me right away. Huh. Well I told her in the best way I could that there wasn’t really anywhere else I could be – or had to be – until I got my leg fixed. Her booking me in for 9:20 a.m. when apparently there wasn’t enough time to do what needed to be done wasn’t really my problem. And so she went back to confer with the doctors again.

In the meantime a doctor came out who recognized me from working on Robin Hood way-back-when together. We said our how-do-you-dos and then she got down to the business of asking me what had happened. I told her and then she promptly grabbed a hold of the top bit of my bandage and pulled it back to see the wound (ripping open everything again and causing me to gasp in pain), to which I kindly asked what she was doing and she replied that she just wanted to see what it looked like. Had she asked me that beforehand, I would have informed her that the wound was shaped in such a way that the best way to “look at it” would be to peel back the bottom part of the bandage, not the top as she did, in order to not disturb the flap of flesh.

She eventually went away and I was just about getting my heart rate back to normal from the doctor carelessly pulling back the bandage, when a nurse came out to inform me that they could, in fact, see me now. Perfect. As I hobbled into the medical room, the nurse told me she was a student nurse and would be learning from her experiences at the medical centre. I figured she was bubbling with excitement at the potential of what my wound could teach her.

I was relieved to find that Sharon would be seeing me as she is a friend of Steve and Lynne’s (the camp managers) and I had gotten to know her over the past few months and found her to be really easy to get along with. That and she has had many years experience working down in Stewart Island in really remote areas where though she is a nurse, had to make some very tough decisions. I figured I had lucked out and was with the best person I could be with to get me fixed up.

Sharon asked me to remove my own bandage (as opposed to ripping it off like the other doctor had done) and proceeded to ask me what had happened. By the time I had fully removed everything, she had calculated that it was now 16hrs since it had happened. Immediately the three of us could see the effects my delayed action in getting things fixed had caused with the wound. It sat there all puffy and sick-looking, bits already on the grey side. And when Sharon pulled back the flap of skin to inspect the inside, it was clear that things were still quite dirty.

Things went relatively quickly after that. Sharon injected some local anesthetic to the area and proceeded to discuss with the student nurse how she was going to go about fixing the wound. Up until that point I was doing fine with everything, but the descriptive talk combined with the feeling of Sharon scrubbing out my wound was a little much. I put in my iPod and focused on breathing.

Time slipped on and before I knew it, Sharon was yelling at me over my iPod music that they were done. I took my headphones out and sat up. there sat my leg with the wound all nicely stitched. It didn’t look near as bad as what I thought it wound. Five stitches Sharon told me. They couldn’t close up the top bit of the wound as the skin was too thin, so Steri-strips would have to do. In no time at all I was bandaged up again and sent out the door.

The rest of the day I spent lying on the couch, counting the hours away as I occasionally hobbled around the house. Time passed as I took nap after nap, unable to concentrate on anything for more than half an hour. It was okay, but I was crossing my fingers my leg would heal up soon. I hated the fact that I was limited from doing what I wanted to do, but grateful that the next few days I was scheduled off anyway.

Days ticked by and things slowly started to improve. I found myself hobbling less and being able to take showers with my leg in the water (initially I could only have baths with my leg straight up in the air to avoid the wound getting wet). Everything revolved around my doctor’s appointments. The first one I went to Sharon discovered that the infection had spread further than she would have liked – my five days of antibiotics turned into ten. The second appointment was a dressing change and the third was to allow me to remove the bandage permanently. But the date of stitches removal was being pushed back further and further.

Finally, after two weeks to the day since being injured, I was able to head to the medical centre and have Sharon pronounce the words that were music to my ears. I was able to have the stitches removed. That meant I could run again. It meant I could stop thinking about it. It meant a return to normal life.

Sort of. Sharon provided me with mini-bandages to just put over top of the wound area to protect it while it continued healing. The bit that Sharon was unable to stitch closed had pulled back and died off (as she had initially thought would happen) so now the new skin was still trying to form and any excess stress to the area could cause more damage. I didn’t want that so I gladly took the bandages.

The other day I went to change the bandage Sharon had put on, only to find that it was sticky across the whole thing. I didn’t realize that until I had pulled it back to find that the bandage had taken the top layer of half the wound with it. Bummer. Apparently with the bandage on, the skin had soften enough while showering and going about my day to allow it to break free and stick to the bandage itself. Underneath was essentially pussy goop that my body was fighting off. Perfect. So I’m back to cleaning wounds again. Good old salt water and tender loving care.

So now that the stitches are out and though the wound is still healing, I figure it's good that the whole injury has inspired me for something greater. Starting today I have begun training for a full marathon. Not sure which one or when, but I've started a new goal and it feels fabulous. As far as the wound I figure with everything that's gone on, at least the scar should be good.

Live Near the Ocean

Live near the ocean and inhale the pure salt air that flows over the water, Vancouver will do nicely.

~ Lululemon

Or live near the mountains and breathe in the fresh pure mountain air - I figure it works just as well. Or at least that's what I'm doing right now and it suits me just fine.

It hit me the other day while reading Stolen Time – a true story by Sunny Jacobs (American) in how she was sentenced to die for a crime she didn’t commit. I have the Goldfish Syndrome. Temporary, of course, but none the less – a very serious case of it. Sunny Jacobs had it when her appeal went through and her sentence was changed to life from death row and she found herself completely unaccustomed to the simple notion that she was allowed to go outside of her cell during the daytime hours without any particular reason at all. She no longer needed a guard to gain permission in leaving her cell – she could do so herself. And yet, the simple notion of expanding her space – to be able to stand just outside the door of her cell for five minutes at a time was an incredible feat in itself.

“Five minutes. I look at my watch to check the time. Stepping over the threshold and to the left, I press my back to the wall, sliding down into a squat, oriental-style, with my arms wrapped around myself. I settle in for the five interminable minutes that make my skin crawl and my teeth clench. It feels foetal. It feels like when the first amphibian crawled out of the sea. It reminds me of a goldfish that has lived its life in a small bowl and suddenly finds itself in a larger tank. It will still behave as if it had the original space around it. You get used to having a certain amount of space around you and anything more or less is a cause for discomfort” (Pg. 193, Jacobs).

And so here I am feeling very much the same in a completely different set of circumstances for I am definitely not living my life behind bars for a crime I did not commit and I most definitely have not been trying to adjust to my newfound “freedom” of being on a life sentence rather than death row. Nope – I have merely moved house. And just to clarify, by “move house” I actually mean I moved INTO a house.  It finally happened two weeks ago and I still feel as though I am living in a dream and am going to wake up any second.

Kaikoura - where mountains meet the sea

To go back a bit, the only reason I have the house is because a set of events went into motion a while back that resulted in Stu (Assistant Manager) and Geoff & Julie (Duty Managers) leaving the camp. Long story short and one very large emotional rollercoaster ride, Steve and Lynne have hired on a couple to act as the new Assistant Managers who will take over Geoff & Julie’s old house. Which left Stu’s house up for grabs. Enter me.

For the past month I have been counting down the days. I have been day dreaming about the possibility of being able to move into Stu’s house. I have drawn diagrams of how I would decorate the place. I have written lists of all the things I want to get to fill it. I have thought about what I want to plant in the garden and all the plans I would have to entertain those that came over. But never, in all my wildest dreams, did I actually believe I would get it. A part of me always believed that something would alter the course of events to result in me having to live in Cabin B1 a while longer yet. A part of me figured I would end up having to figure out how to convert a porta-cabin into an adequate accommodation unit for myself instead.

But as it were – nothing happened to alter the course of events and before I knew it (actually – that’s a lie – it seemed as though the day would never come) it was time for me to move in. I wish I could say it was bittersweet, to leave my beloved Cabin B1 behind, but it wasn’t. The morning of moving day I was up at 6:00 a.m. making sure everything was packed, ready to be moved and that my cabin was clean for the next tenant. Nearly 7 months in that box of a home and that was plenty long enough for me. Not to mention that before that it was a year living in a tent and before that was 2 months living in a van. Prior to the van was about 5 months sharing a flat with a guy I barely knew and was about to fall to bits and the only thing before that was a month jumping around hostels and 2 months living in a tent. Needless to say – I feel as though I have only been dreaming of the day I could become a “normal” person in the realm of accommodation – for what feels like forever.

The cat camp pretending it doesn't like being in the house

And that day has arrived. Or it did arrive and it really hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Hence the Goldfish Syndrome. I mean, really – what does one do in a house that includes a massive kitchen, living room with a fireplace, two bedrooms and a bathroom (with a bath)? The living room itself is about four times the size of my former cabin – so large that last night I shut all the internal doors so it felt as though the living room was my only living space and then I spent the night sleeping there. Not that there was anything wrong with that – something quite lovely about falling to sleep in front of a roaring fire.

But really, half my issue is that I literally have no furniture to my name. Moving in consisted of a few boxes of clothing and then “shopping” around all the storage facilities at the camp for any extra furniture lying around. I managed to scrounge enough to make my kitchen and living room look presentable, but with no bed to speak of the second bedroom has taken to being in an indefinite lock-down situation. And that’s just the beginning. Along with my own private outdoor patio overlooking the mountains, there is what Stu used to call the “Man Cave” which is really just an extension of the house that is the exact size of my old cabin. I figure if I ever get too overwhelmed with all the space, I’ll just go and sit in there for a while.

And then there’s the single-car garage for the car I do not possess, but upon doing a bit of searching inside I found a really cool vintage-looking mirror that I’ve brought inside to use for decoration. For where – I haven’t a clue. But at least it’s a start.

Finally, there’s the camp cat – Squeaky. Been with the camp for who knows how long, but the camp has kept Squeaky around to help kill off the mice and detour any other animals from overtaking the property. Stu used to feed it (no one knows if it’s a he or she), but with him gone, the responsibility falls on me. So now I have a house and a cat - though I am not entirely convinced that the cat I am feeding is Squeaky. I might have attracted a brand new mascott in all the changes that have been going on as of late. 

Not to mention that I have also been given a job with a proper title. All of a sudden I am starting to feel as though the pieces of my adult life are falling into place. And I don’t at all feel freaked out about it. Just the space. The endless copious amounts of space – THAT I can safely say I’m slightly freaked out about. I mean, the house has three entrances and I’ve spent the last two weeks simply making a point to change which one I come in or leave out of whenever I can. Just to figure out which one feels best. At this point the jury’s still out, but I have to say it’s sure nice to have the option.

My new home

But over and above the Goldfish Syndrome, I have come to realize that with this amazing opportunity to live in this house, I have been dumped with a heap of responsibility that I have only ever dreamed of but never had to partake in. As soon as the keys were in my hand I became fully aware of the fact that I now had to buy my own toilet paper and dish soap again. The electricity bill would be coming to me every month and I have the continuous expectation upon myself to ensure the place is neat and tidy. For if I don’t do it – who will? And then there’s the garden – of which I am both excited and terrified for. I have never had to take care of a garden before and I have distant memories of killing off a cactus when I was growing up that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This property is so much more than a cactus. It’s mowing the lawns, trimming back bushes and weeding the garden. And that’s just the basic plants. There’s also the option of using the many spare car tires lying around for raised garden beds. But for what? That’s the million dollar question. What do I want to grown in there and how do I do it?

I try not to get too caught up in all the planning and such as I have come to realize that I simply do not have a million dollars to do everything instantaneously. It’s going to take a lot of time to get everything sorted the way I hope to do it and in the meantime there are many walls to wash and weeds to pick. Today I cleaned the gutters and mowed the lawn. At least I can’t complain of boredom in the next upcoming months.

Home sweet home.

 

Visualize Your Eventual Demise

Visualize your eventual demise. It can have an amazing effect on how you live for the moment.

~ Lululemon

As soon as I turned off my cell phone, a wave of enlightened freedom washed over me. The weight on my shoulders had been lifted. I had done it. Disappeared.

That was yesterday – when I arrived in Kaikoura. After endless hours of working over the course of 10 days, I had finally made it to my four-day stretch of nothingness. And it felt brilliant. Originally, I had planned to head off to the west coast, to see Nelson and surrounding areas, but plans changed when Cat had to go home to see her family before work started up again. She was the one with the car. And in the midst of school holidays in which both of us were off, it would have been perfect to have a few days of adventure together. But also, just as important – it was a perfect time for her to make the long trip to Dunedin to check in with her loved ones. It only made me wish that it was that simple and easy for me to do the same.

Instead, I was left without a ride. Without a plan. Without a companion to share an adventure with. All I had was a “Plan B,” but no plan. As I laid awake in my bed two nights ago tossing and turning at the frustrating thought that I had finally gotten time off but had nowhere to go – one thing continued to come to the forefront of my brain. I wanted to disappear.

I wanted to let go of everything. To get away. To be free of all ties of responsibility and obligation. The stress of the past month at work was eating away at me. Worrying about doing my job right. Stressing about internal staff relations. Trying to keep a smile on my face as I shared the camp with customers, fellow co-workers and volunteers to which I supervised – all the while wanting to curl up in the corner and hideaway. It was time for a much-needed break.

Sunrise - Mt. Isobel

And so in the late hours of Monday night, my Plan B was formulized. I would skip my morning run in exchange for rising early to walk to the petrol station on the outskirts of Hanmer Springs and hitch a ride east to Kaikoura. I had never been to Kaikoura before and with what everyone continued to tell me about it, it seemed like the ideal location for a few days of rejuvenating “me time.” I only hoped the nerves of hitching on my own wouldn’t eat me alive before I even left town. I focused my energy at smiling brightly and appearing care-free and casual as I stuck my thumb out and hoped for a ride. By 7:00 a.m. I was on the road with a lawyer on his way back to Christchurch for work. He dropped me at the next major highway intersection as he headed right to go to the Garden City and I walked to a pull-off point along the road so that I could head left. Within five minutes I had another ride.

Three guys in a rented campervan picked me up within five minutes and I joked with them on how no one with a rented campervan ever picks hitchers up. They were all from South Africa and touring around the country with the primary purpose of following the Rugby World Cup. Sitting in the back of the campervan on the made-up bed (which the guys informed me was much too short for a South African man – to which I noted they were rather tall), I happily settled into the get-to-know you conversation that comes with spontaneously being together with random people. I only wondered how backpackers riding the Kiwi Experience tour buses ever felt as though they got any sort of “Kiwi experience.” I have never been on any such bus while travelling and felt the comfortable ease of spontaneously conversing with the person in the next seat. I, in fact, avoid such travelling “experiences” for such a reason. I suppose that explains my desire to hitch to Kaikoura rather than take a shuttle bus. That and it was a little easier on the wallet.

After one gas stop and some time winding our way along the narrow mountainous roads towards the famous seaside town, we came across a man running on the side of the road. It was none other than Richie McCaw. Only in New Zealand would you come across one of the most recognized faces in sport casually doing his morning run on the side of the road. We honked at him and shouted words of encouragement as we zipped on passed – and then we were there. Kaikoura.

With no time at all, I had found my way to a hostel that could offer me a private room with ensuite that suited my budget and after a quick walk to the local grocery store, I was sorted. I haven’t even minded that it has rained nearly continuously since arriving here – being outside and doing the touristy things wasn’t my primary reason for me.

I’ve just needed time to shut out the world and be by myself. Be in my own bubble where there are no worries of recognizing people I know. Be anonymous to those around me. Be invisible. And so I have turned off my cell phone with glee. There is nowhere I need to be. No one that I need to be in contact with. No one that needs to know where I am. And it feels brilliant.

This morning I went for a run and found myself missing the mountain trials out my back door in Hanmer Springs. But that didn’t stop me from enjoying the ability to do some yoga on the beach while watching the water lap the shoreline and the sun come up over the horizon. Early morning fishermen were out in their boats on the calm water and I watched them as I did my sun salutations. I did the warrior as I gazed back at the majestic snow-capped mountains just behind Kaikoura and felt my soul calm down in a sense of peace. Today would be a good day.

And it has been. The hours have ticked passed as I took a long shower, leisurely ate breakfast while gazing out over the ocean, had a late morning nap and walked to the secondhand bookstore to pick up something to read. But most of all I find that my mind is aimlessly wandering through all the things I haven’t felt I’ve had time to think about in a while. I find my brain picking up a topic and critically going over each angle of it, testing it, analyzing it and then letting it go.

Ever since walking Te Araroa Trail, I have felt as though my “me time” has lessoned quite considerably. I got used to having the time to simply just think. The pace of life was such a way that a person could finish a day and feel quite secured with how they fit into the world around them. Or at least that is how I felt. A quiet contentment would fill my soul on most days – even the worst days – in the knowledge that the simplicity of life would ground me in whatever I was thinking or doing.

But not any longer. Sure – life is still fairly simple. It’s not as though I have a high-powered job in a fast-paced city or anything. But my life now is a lot faster than what it once was. I am no longer walking through life with a fine-toothed comb. In some ways that’s a good thing, but in other ways – it eventually builds up inside me until I get to the point where I need to hideaway for a while and untangle the mess that my thoughts have become.

I have now passed the year mark of which Alex and I started walking Te Araroa. A year ago we would have been setting up camp in Ahipara, thanking all the higher powers that we made it off the beach and had found civilization again. A year ago we were unsure what the future held – Alex’s ankle was injured. My blisters hurt. My shoulders felt as though they were going to fall off. And that was just the beginning of the adventure.

And now I sit here in my private room in Kaikoura and contemplate the rain as it pours down outside and think of how much I am still so much traumatized from the rain Alex and I walked through while doing Te Araroa Trail. I avoid any sort of time being out in the rain simply because the feeling of being wet eternally as become a fear ingrained within me. I have yet to re-discover the fun I once had in the wet as I did as a child. Right now it is lost from me and I much more content to simply watch it from the comfort of my room while reading a good book.

So much has happened in the past few months that these few days have been needed for quite some time. I haven’t quite processed all that happened while trekking Te Araroa Trail. I am not sure I ever will. Not to mention that it hasn’t really sunk in what I am doing here in New Zealand. My aim of travelling the world has somehow morphed into the desire to seek out putting some roots down in Hanmer Springs. And oddly enough, I am at peace with that. I think. Every so often I start to freak about it and I have to remind myself why I am doing what I am doing. And sometimes I am not even sure what that is.

With all this reflection, I have started to enter my age into the equation. I have never before considered my age to be a factor in what I do with my life or what I want to do until now. All of a sudden I find fleeting thoughts and concerns about where I am at with my life and wondering if it’s where I am supposed to be. Though I know I am where I am meant to be – how could I not be? – It still makes me wonder. With all the people I have met around the world, everyone is in a constant struggle of competition with everyone else to find where they fit in the world and be able to declare that they have found “it.” Whatever that may be. It seems to always come down to the battle between settling down and living the “dream.” I have yet to see if a person can have both.

As it stands – I have figured out in my time of being with myself – I am living my dream. I figure I am probably living more of a dream than I ever figured I could dream. I also figure that I need to stop worrying about what will come – what will be – and enjoy the ride that will take me there, as it surely will be good won’t it? I also need to stop stressing about things that don’t matter and just work on loving the people around me that care about me. Including myself.

I find it easy to get caught up in a whirlwind of self-destructive thought processes with regards to my own personal perspective on myself. Who doesn’t? But when in a foreign country, with no word on whether I will be staying longer or leaving tomorrow and living in a small town surrounded by people I have only known for a few months, it is easy to get caught in the trap of feeling isolated and lost. My solution? To disappear.

And so here I am. Cut off from the world – other to write this very public blog entry – and it feels brilliant. Time to work out the thoughts in my head. To figure out where to go from where I am. To come back to work and life in Hanmer Springs stronger and more determined to go after what it is I want. What it is I am meant to do. What it is that will continue this adventure another day.

Better to not know which moment will be your last – every morsel of your entire being alive to the infinite mystery of it all.

~ Pirates of the Caribbean – On Stranger Tides



Comunication is COMPLICATED

Communication is COMPLICATED. We are all raised in a different family with slightly different definitions of every word. An agreement is an agreement only if each party knows the conditions for satisfaction and a time is set for satisfaction to occur.

~ Lululemon

Still no word on the visa and yet things continue to chug along here in Hanmer Springs. I have unofficially officially started my new position here at the camp as a Volunteer & Fundraising Coordinator. The paperwork may still need signing but my purpose each day at work has been re-ignited. No longer am I simply expected to ensure there are enough toilet rolls beside each toilet. Now I simply have to ensure that someone else has put enough toilet rolls beside each toilet.

Cat, Alex, myself and Ben watching the Rugby World Cup
opening game and ceremony.

And so it has begun. The past few weeks have been filled with both recruiting and training up backpackers to work at the camp for their accommodation. We now have what us camp staff have started to refer to as our own volunteer army. It’s been brilliant. All of a sudden, all the things we have been struggling to get done – all the things that continuously sit on the back burner to do during a slow day (but never get done) are now all being ticked off our never-ending list. Spring cleaning. Washing windows. Stacking wood. Weeding gardens. Re-painting fences. Tick, tick, tick. And through all of this I have realized that I am pretty comfortable with the whole “coordinating” side of my job, but it’s the communication part of it that leaves me completely flat-lined by the end of the day.

See – it would all be quite a simple process if everyone knew the thoughts and ideas going through my head, agreed with them and were able to successfully complete what I had in mind without a hitch. If only life were like that. Instead, I spend most of my day struggling to communicate what it is that I have in mind, what I want done and how to do it better for next time. And not for lack of trying either.

Stu FINALLY climbs the tree at the
camp. His son is only slightly distracted.

First off, bringing backpackers to the little bubble of our camp in the wonderland of Hanmer Springs isn’t that difficult. And getting them to work for free isn’t that hard either. It’s trying to communicate with them when they are all from different countries of the world. Different ages. Different backgrounds. Different ideas on how to do things – on what works and what doesn’t. Different work ethics. Not to mention when they speak different languages.

So – here I am in a learning curve of sorts as I have discovered that generally speaking, my biggest struggle is learning to not be so nice all the time. Learning to have boundaries. Learning to have standards of how I want things done. Learning to be a strong and competent leader. Easier said than done.

In particular, it’s been rather difficult the past month in trying to balance being a Volunteer Coordinator while living with the backpackers. I am still surviving in my little cabin of B1 and because of that, I share the kitchen/lounge facilities with the volunteer backpackers. Not exactly horrible, but when I finish work for the day and am craving my own space – all I have to laze around in is a cabin the size of a shoebox. But, with any luck, that will all soon change.

The Forest Camp is gearing up for some major staff changes here in the near future. Out Assistant Manager and Duty Managers are all jumping ship – leaving Steve & Lynne (Managers) and myself to run the camp while we hunt down a new couple to take on the roll of Assistant Managers. Long story short, one of the staff houses will be available for use by none other than me. That’s right – an actual house. Seems too good to be true. And so I pretend not to think about it in case it is just that.

But really – a house?! How do I even begin to contemplate how beautifully wonderful that would be?? How can I possibly begin to describe what it would mean to have a place not just to call my own, but somewhere that I could literally settle into and feel at home? The past 7 years of my life have been spent moving from place to place, jumping from one building to the next – never quite staying long enough to officially have changed my address with all my contacts. Not quite officially staying long enough to make the place feel lived in. Never staying longer than a year. Not to mention that of the past two years of my life, a year has been spent living out of tent, six months in a cramped box of a hut and the other six months jumping between flats, house shares, hostels and sleeping on people’s couches. To go from all of that to my very own two bedroom house would be a dream, to say the very least.

Lynn Lunn (2nd from left) plays in the band for a little
birthday party entertainment

To have one single roof over my head – a place where I can not only sleep, but eat, shower and have space to relax. A place with enough space to have people over. A place where I can get back into my art. A place to hang pictures and cook meals. A place to grow a garden. A place to make memories and call home. Like I said – it’s too good to be true.

And so I try not to think about it. But that’s difficult to do when the idea of moving into a house seems like the only stable thing in my life right now. I still don’t know about my visa and as far as I know – it might be until nearly the end of the year before I hear back just due to how long it will take to process my Canadian police check. I don’t have a clue what’s going to happen with the staff here – the gap in the team that Julie, Geoff and Stuart will leave here at the camp is tremendous and I try not to think about it. I try not to think about who is going to potentially fill their shoes. It’s out of my hands and up to Steve and Lynne to make that decision. Even the thought of how long it’s been since I’ve been back to Canada is something I push from my mind – the only thing that seems remotely realistically within my grasp is the potential to have my very own house. And even that still comes down to waiting.

So I count down the days to everything that could be. Might be. Should be. Will be. I count down the days to when I might hear word on my visa. I count down the days to when we could have new Assistant Managers at the camp. I count down the days to when I think I should be going back to Canada. I count down the days to when it will be a year from when Alex and I first stepped foot on Te Araroa Trail.

Steve and I make the climb up Mt. Isobel for the sunrise.

And as I spend my days feeling like The Count off of Sesame Street, I am increasingly more aware of how important it is to make the most out of life as it comes. The other day a friend in Hanmer Springs had her birthday. She turned 70. At her party that consisted of live entertainment and two Māori hāngi (pronounced [‘ha-ŋi]) which is a traditional New Zealand Māori method of cooking food using heated rocks buried in a pit oven with the ground, commonly used for special occasions. Oh – and then about a million people. Lynn literally invited pretty well all of Hanmer Springs and encouraged people to bring whomever they wanted to the party. And then there was her family. Brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, grandchildren and great-grandchildren – it was more of a family reunion than a birthday party. And the best part was that as an outsider, you still felt like part of a family. It was the biggest gathering of love that I had ever seen. Everyone just rocked up to one of Lynn’s daughter’s back garden with their own drink in hand and spent the evening chatting it up with everyone and everyone. There was a massive poster to sign for Lynn of which I can only imagine what she thought while reading it over the next day – many signatures were from people she would have never met before.

The food was fabulous, but the bit that got me the most was the big collage of photos from Lynn’s life. Here was a woman captured throughout her years – her full life of everything that life could be. I have only gotten to know her in the past six months – months of which we worked together, did Robin Hood together, played darts together and spent many moments just simply spending time together. The few stories she’s told me and those I’ve heard about her have just left me completely inspired to continue living life to the full. And that’s exactly what she has done – and it was all captured within the collage. Her as a child with a goofy face. Her riding a bike, completely care-free. Her with her siblings. Her with her children. Her living life.

Solar panels get added to the new
toilet/shower block at the camp.

And that is probably what inspires me most about Lynn Lunn. She has found a way to live life completely to the full without a need or desire to take more than what life has given her. She has never left New Zealand. Hates to fly. Has grown up in the Hanmer Springs area as something like a 5-generation family member and still loves it to bits. She knows everyone and anyone in Hanmer Springs and gets along with practically everyone she meets (hence the large crowd at her party). She makes the most out of the life she has and loves every minute of it. She doesn’t apologize for what she has done in life or who she is. She accepts people for who they are as much as what she accepts herself for who she is.

She is everyone’s grandma. Everyone’s mother. Everyone’s sister and friend. She is the person you could talk to about anything. She is the person who is up for anything. She exudes this passion for life that I have seen in few people and all it does is make me want more.

Lynn has lived 70 years on this planet and has so many stories to tell and yet she is still going strong. I only hope that by the time I reach that age that I can say I have lived like she has. Danced as she has. Laughed as she has. Loved as she has.

And as much as Lynn has inspired me in life, so has so many other people. She reminds me of family back home of whom I think of regularly and am reminded of what is important in life. I have come to realize that life isn’t about what job you have, where you have been, how much money you have or who you know. Life is about the simple things. About going after your dream. About loving the people in your life for who they are. About taking that risk to become a better person. About taking the smallest moments in life and living them to the full. Life is about life.

So as I wait for so much of the life that I hope will be, I am still taking the time to live to the full with what I have. Morning runs have become a regular thing, many being accompanied by Steve & Lynne’s dog – Jess – and as I spent the first hour of light letting my feet lead me up, down and all around the forest trails, I feel blessed to know that this is my life. Blessed that I can sweat my way up to the top of a mountain saddle or hilltop and then stretch my tired muscles as I watch the sunrise. Blessed that I can push my body, all the while laughing at Jess as she comes tearing around the corner in an effort to outrun me.

It’s moments like that that I treasure. Moments like when me and Cat go out for dinner at a local pub and just spend time having a nice meal by the fire. Moments like when I see the kids from the next school group coming to the camp – faces that have no power to contain the excitement bubbling inside. Moments like that are what matter.

That Which Matters Most

That which matters the most should never give way to that which matters the least.

~ Lululemon

Today I went to the dentist. Doesn’t particularly sound spectacular except for the fact that it’s been nearly 3 years since I last had a visit. And that was in Canada. And so now, in a completely different country – an entirely different hemisphere – I booked in to see a South African dentist. Talk about going international.

Not only was I due for a check-up and clean, but I also knew I was due to get one of my molars sorted. Back during the days of walking 8-9hrs/day along Te Araroa Trail, I had a moment of which a piece of my molar broke off. Or its filling – it wasn’t entirely clear. Regardless, the event left a deep hole into my molar, causing me to have to develop a brand new skill of sucking food out of the hole every time I ate. Joy.

There wasn’t much I could do about it until now for the simple fact that I’ve been on a backpacker’s budget and dental work such as what I wanted wasn’t exactly considered emergency-related. I couldn’t get it covered by insurance. And no matter what job I ever possessed in New Zealand, dental work is never covered. As such, I am apparently part of the normal population who waits years in between dental appointments due to the sheer magnitude of a bill they receive at the end of each visit.

But today I went. I had chosen the dental office out of a series of random phone calls to various locations in order to figure out which would be the best price to go to. Sure, dental work may not be covered in New Zealand, but because of that, dentists are fighting to bring in new patients. It was almost like shopping the streets of Mexico in that I had all the power. I bartered my way into an office that had the friendliest reception staff and when I finally arrived today, I was slightly taken back by the homey feel of the reception area. This wasn’t just about visiting the dentist. This was about visiting family.

After seeing the hygienist who cleaned my teeth, gave me some dental floss and informed me that not only should I stop brushing so hard (my gums are putting up a protest), but that I should be careful with how much I chew the insides of my cheeks (stress), stop grinding my teeth (stress) and that the hole in my tooth might have a cavity. I wasn’t surprised at that last one. She then hustled me out to go and officially see the dentist.

He was able to take some x-rays and in doing so, figured out quite quickly that, yes, I do have a cavity in the holey molar. The only worrying factor was that the decay had progressed quite closely to the nerve which could me bad news for me in the near future. So he suggested immediately fixing it, which I was all for until he stated the cost of everything would come to $500. Right. Not the kind of money I have lying around even though I just got paid. When I told him I didn’t have that amount with me, he responded by moving my chair back and got busy numbing my molar. Before I knew it all sorts of drilling tools were in my mouth and with no time at all he was setting the filing to harden. He asked if I had heard of the movie Pay it Forward. I had.

He then left the room and had his assistant hygienist work out a price for the work that was done. I ended up paying only $300 for the whole appointment. Craziness.

I left the dentist chair feeling completely humbled. It wasn’t just the dentist. It was everything – New Zealand in general. The culture here is immersed in the philosophy of paying it forward. No one ever seems concerned with who owes who what. There is simply an understanding that everyone will take care of everyone else. I mean, really – how many other places are there where you can walk into a business such as a dental office and spontaneously get a massive discount simply because you need the work done but can’t afford it that day?

Where else can you go where people will simply just hand over their car keys (thanks Cat) so you can drive the 2 hours to your appointment? Where else can you go where people let you live in their house while they’re away on holiday – giving you full reign of their pantry? Where else can you go that when disaster strikes people pull together so fast you almost wish it would happen again just to hang onto that raw feeling of community just a little bit longer?

Not many places I have been do have been like it has here in New Zealand. To wake up every day and know that there will be complete strangers to take care of you. Because they want to. Because they can. Because they know that is what is important in life. Not money. Not things. Not a busy schedule. What’s important are the people around us. Doesn’t matter if they are family, friends or otherwise. Everyone is human and deserves a break once in a while.

So – as it stands, with all that has happened today – I am due to pay it forward. I don’t know to whom. I don’t know what it will be. But I do know that I will pay it forward.

The Pursuit of Happiness

The pursuit of happiness is the source of all unhappiness.

~ Lululemon

What is it that makes us run? What is it that makes people push others away and hide behind their metaphorical wall? Why do we do it to ourselves? Why is it that the moment we finally get everything we could ever dream of, we turn and walk the other way? Why is it that everything we’ve ever wanted is the very thing we destroy once it’s in our hands?

Maybe it’s fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of failure. Fear of the past. Fear of the future. Fear of being inadequate. Fear of what could be. Fear of what isn’t. Fear of ourselves and everything in between.

Maybe it’s a habit we cannot break. Maybe it’s something that will always be there. Maybe it’s our own intuitive defense system for prevention of hurt. Prevention of pain. Maybe the walls will never fully be broken down. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s everything.

I find it funny that the basis of all our existence here on this planet is an eternal search for love. To be loved. To love. To have love. To give love. To be with people who care about us the same way we care about them. To surround ourselves with people who “get” us. Who accept us for who we are. Who can be a shoulder to lean on. An ear to listen. A figure of support. Someone to laugh with. Cry with. Someone to share life with. The good times and bad. A best friend. Someone to just be with. To do everything. To do nothing. It’s funny that this is what we all long for. Crave for. And yet it is the very thing we run from once we have it.

It's the thing that when taken from us feels as though our heart has just been ripped out. It feels like we've been trampled. As though we can no longer breathe. It makes us question why we let ourselves love to begin with - may even question our reasons for existing at all. When taken away, love can make us feel the lowest of lows. Make us wonder what we did wrong, even when it was nothing we did at all. It crushes us as though we were merely a pest under someone's foot. When love is taken from us, it takes everything we ever thought we had.

Someone recently told me that they have a history of randomly pushing people away for no reason at all. As if things were too good to be true and they had to ruin it to prove it wasn’t meant to be. I could relate. With a history of building a fortress around me so tall and strong it’s impossible to break through, I get it. It’s tough to let someone in and be okay with it. It’s tough to let the walls crumble, to let someone see the real me and not freak out about it. It’s tough to let my guard down. To show I don’t have it all together all the time. To be vulnerable. It’s tough to care, all the while knowing that I could one day be left to pick up the broken pieces of my heart.

It’s why I think the pursuit of happiness is the source of all unhappiness. True happiness comes from love. It comes from deep inside the soul. So rich. So pure. And yet, with love one risks everything. To truly love one must give their all. To have it be real. Hold nothing back. Trust the other person to catch them when they fall. And the brilliance of it all is that you cannot ever help who you love. You just do.

And I’m not just talking about the kind of love found in some romantic relationship. Love is so much more than with that one person. It is with your friends. The kindred spirits that surround you. It’s with your family – the people you may never quite understand, but will love till the day you die. It’s the love that happens when you get the phone call at 3 a.m. and don’t care that you’re sleep’s been disturbed. It’s the love that happens when you share a stupid joke with a friend and can laugh about it for hours until your sides hurt. And then laugh some more. It’s the love that happens when someone holds back your hair when you’re sick. When the world can come crashing down around you and they stand by you, holding your hand. It’s the love that happens when you can look into each other’s eyes and have a full conversation without ever saying a word. It’s the love that happens when you can screw up royally and they can still forgive you and move on like it never happened. It’s the love that happens when you push each other to reach for the stars. To take chase your innermost desires. To go after the goal that seems crazier than life itself. It’s the love that just is. That stands the test of time. That won’t budge no matter how ridiculous it seems. It just is.

It’s that kind of love that everyone searches for. That everyone longs for. That everyone dreams for. And yet it is that very love that everyone runs from. That everyone crushes. That everyone shuts down and scoffs at. It’s that love that everyone is so skeptical about that they’d rather be miserable on their own than risk getting everything they ever wanted.

As time goes on, I find I am realizing more and more what exactly is important in life. What should be important in my life. I don’t care about money. I don’t care about things. I don’t care about aging or being famous. I don’t care about a lot of things that society continuously tries to tell me I should. All that matters are the simple things. All I care about is that I make the most of the moment. That I have good health. That I enjoy what nature has blessed this world with. That I spend time on the relationships that matter in life. That I take time to love those that I care about.

I don’t know what makes us run. I don’t know what makes people push others away and hide behind their metaphorical wall. I don’t know why we do this. I don’t know why the moment we finally get everything we could ever dream of, we turn and walk the other way. I don’t know why it is that everything we’ve ever wanted is the very thing we destroy once it’s in our hands. I don’t know much. But what I do know is quite simple.




All we need is love.

~ Beatles



Dance, Sing, Floss and Travel

Dance, sing, floss and travel.

~ Lululemon

I find it hard to believe that I am here in New Zealand still. Continuously I have to pinch myself to remind myself that it's not a dream. This is my reality. And it's awesome. Now that Robin Hood is done, my short acting career has come to a close and life is slowly returning back to normal. I got my hair cut (it's been a year). I got some new shoes (I'd been trading off between gumboots and borrowing Alex's). I went and joined the weekly darts tournament. That's right - darts. Never played before, but I figured it'd be interesting to learn and get to know some more people. It was a blast and I can't wait till I can actually throw the dart where I want to.

I've begun experimenting with cooking - spicy chicken fajitas. Pumpkin and chickpea curry. Hearty lamb and veggie soup. Yum. Not to mention the fact that I FINALLY invested in a hairdryer. I've been without one since I started travelling over two years ago. Went okay when in Australia and my hair would dry in two seconds with the heat all year round, but here at the camp -- well, I tend to think twice when there's frost on the ground and I have to scamper in-between buildings with wet hair as my exhaled breath clogs my vision.

Yup. Life is good. It is simple. Next week I hope to get up to the slopes to do some much-needed snowboarding. With any luck I won't be constantly comparing New Zealand's snow to the deep powder back in Canada. It'd also be cool to head out of Hanmer Springs and go exploring in the nearby areas. Kaikoura comes to mind. In the meantime I've got work to focus on as well as a decision of what to do in a month's time. The clock keeps on ticking.

The other week I walked home after an evening spent catching up with friends at a local pub while listening to live music and I found myself alone on the road. In the dark. Surrounded by the Hanmer Forest. All I could do was stand in awe as millions of stars shone brightly above me. Shooting stars darted across the sky and I made my wishes. And then I danced my way home, not caring who saw. Because it was dark. Because I was alone. Because there was a good song on my iPod. Because I could.

That seems to be the theme here in Hanmer Springs for me. As I look back over my time that I have spent here, so much of what I have chosen to do has been because I could. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I would be spending these past few months running a half marathon. Never would I have thought I would be taking the lead role in a local pantomime production nor would I have thought I would be taking photographs for the camp to update their website. Not to mention I never thought I would be sleeping in a box of a cabin while I spent my days cleaning toilets for minimal money. And not wanting to really change a thing.

Hanmer Springs - living in a snow globe

And so... because I can – I have made the decision to stay on a while longer yet. Steve and Lynne at the camp have graciously offered me a newly-created job position to work at the camp as a Volunteer and Fundraiser Coordinator. As the camp has never had someone filling in this role before it would be an amazing experience (and big challenge) to step into that position and see what I can do. Everything I have been doing in the past few years has been leading up to this point and I’m totally stoked to see where it will take me. Sure, there are many - many question marks surrounding what this all means for my future, but I am okay with that. It will all work itself out.

As someone close to me recently said, “good things take time,” I am well aware that the universe is telling me to be patient for what is yet to come in my life. I have been discovering that decisions such as these really are not as simple as what they first appear. Making the decision to stay on was one thing. Developing a solid job description of what I would be doing was the next. What has followed those few minor days of angst have been a whirlwind emotional rollercoaster ride which has left me both completely brain-fried and breathless – not to mention the inside of my cheeks are totally munted from me unconsciously chewing on them to relieve the stress.

See – technically I am not actually applying to extend my working holiday visa. I am applying for a completely new work visa to stay in New Zealand. Quite simply because it would allow me more flexibility to stay on for a longer chunk of time and get the most out of the experience. At this point I am looking at a general scope of two years to stay on. Yes – I know – two whole years. It seems crazy, but why not?

And so with the decision to do something like this, the paperwork to fill out has piled up. My phone bill has been exceeded multiple times in order to contact related persons of interest in order to answer my many (so many) questions of what is involved to get this right. I went to Christchurch at 6 a.m. one day to try and get in for a medical check-up only to find myself on the side of the road as me and Nick fixed a flat tire we got after driving over some invisible object that made Nick’s wheel rim spontaneously explode. No joke. When we eventually made it to Christchurch and Nick dropped me off at the doctor’s, I quickly found out I wouldn’t be getting the check-up needed for my visa application. I had forgotten my passport back in Hanmer Springs. So I went shopping instead.

When I finally made it back to Christchurch a few days later (passport securely in hand), I went through the agonizing process of waiting my turn to get a chest x-ray, then blood work, blood pressure, height, weight, waist circumference (not sure what that had to do with helping me to stay in New Zealand) and an urinalysis. Never knew peeing in a cup was such a skill. From that they told me I was not pregnant. Good to know. $428 later, I left the doctor’s office with a lighter wallet and a spinning head. I hadn’t eaten since the night before because of the blood tests and it was now after one in the afternoon.

The next hurdle was the “proof of character.” Aka: Criminal Record Check. Aka: Police Certificate. As I am in New Zealand, this process involves me getting fingerprints done at a police station here and then sending them to Canada along with a processing fee of which I then wait patiently for them to process the request and return me the Police Certificate. Sounds simple in theory, but when considering time is my enemy here, and the Canadian Post has a tendency to go on strike every other month; the estimated time of processing by the RCMP of 12 weeks seems like an eternity. Even still, while in Christchurch I went on the hunt for the nearest police station. It happened to be a good half an hour walk to the city centre from Riccarton where across the street the Bridge of Remembrance sat completely munted still from the February earthquake. I walked inside and stated my request to the receptionist only to be informed that they only do fingerprinting in the morning. It was nearly 2:30 p.m. Fortunately for me there wasn’t much crime going on that day and there happened to be a constable available with nothing better to do but roll my fingers in black ink. Perfect. Within 15 minutes I was done. If only the actual processing of the fingerprints was as easy.

And so it goes. There have been issues of trying to get a money order from the bank here in Hanmer Springs only to be denied because I am not a customer of that bank (and therefore I have to potentially go to Christchurch again). There’s been the issue of ensuring the Hanmer Springs Forest Camp Trust is behind the decision to create a new job position. There’s still the issue of where I am going to be sleeping every night as I surely don’t want to be holed up in a small cabin for the next two years of my life. And now the issue of my quickly depleting bank funds due to all the fees involved with processing the application. Not to mention the fact that if my current visa expires before the new one gets processed then I am essentially stuck in New Zealand as I would have no legal right to leave or enter until I get word from the immigration office. Guess my dreams of a holiday on a hot tropical beach on some island north of here will be out of the question for the next few months.


Alex and I make it into the current issue of
NZ Fitness Magazine for trekking Te Araroa Trail

 But that’s all fairly minor in comparison to what this means as far as my overall lifestyle is concerned. Because that is what this comes down to – me choosing to stay here in Hanmer Springs is a lifestyle choice. It is choosing a community that has welcomed me with open arms. It is choosing a slower-paced life that allows me to do everything I’ve always wanted to do and then some. It is choosing to live where my backyard is the mountains all around me. It is choosing to do something to push myself further. It’s choosing a challenge of a new job that will add to my experience in the area of community development and social services. It is choosing to just be.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about what I will be giving up in order to stay here. And that thought is very difficult to contemplate. How does one choose something like this and not feel remotely torn up over knowing it will mean a further extension of separation from loved ones back at home? Granted, I have already done two years, so what’s two more? But the thing is – when I started travelling, that was all it was. Travelling. There was no time limit, no expectation or commitment for when I would be done. It just was. One day at a time – see where it would take me. I just never thought it would take me here.

And sure, two years is not forever, but it is still a long time. A lot can happen in two years, the last two years is surely a case in point. And it’s heartbreaking to know that in choosing to stay here in New Zealand, I am missing out in what is going on back in Canada. Birthday’s, holidays, summers, winters, coffee dates and movies. In choosing to live here I am giving up living in Canada. Right now it’s not forever, but two years is still two years.

Yet, even still, I know that this is right for me. Provided I get accepted, of course. Lululemon’s four small words certainly ring true to me in this time of waiting. Because I have danced. Because I have sung. Because I have flossed. Because I most definitely have travelled. And it still isn’t over. It never is. This is the journey that never ends.

Successful People

Successful people replace the words ‘wish,’ ‘should’ and ‘try’ with ‘I will.’

~ Lululemon

This past week has been something of a massive whirlwind of dreams and goals – some of the past and some of the future. Between finishing Robin Hood (went awesome!) and enjoying a fabulous Christmas in July (YAY for snow!) the days have flown by. It’s hard to believe that in about a month my time as I know it here in New Zealand will come to an end. And as they say – when one door closes…. Another opens, right? It’s just I haven’t a clue which door to choose. Still.

Yup – that’s right. I still don’t know what is to become of me and my life a month from now. A month from now everything as I know it will come to an end. And all I can think about is everything that has brought me to this point. Every choice I have made. Every day I have lived. Every breath I have breathed. To get me to this point. It was not an easy ride and it certainly won’t be one I will ever forget.



Robin Hood (me) and his mother discuss the complications of ACC

 Straight from that first day I set off into the bush to walk from Banff to Vancouver, I knew I was in for something big. Just not this big. I never figured I would ever be at the point I am today. At the point of which I am so completely and utterly torn in two as to what to do. Where to go. Which door to open next. I never figured I would meet so many incredible people along my way. People that would turn my world upside-down. People who would become like family. People who will forever be imprinted on my soul.

I never figured in my wildest dreams I would do the things I have done. Never would I have thought I would have climbed the mountains I have. Crossed the rivers I did. Seen the wildlife I have. So much more than the birds and the bees. Try bears. Dolphins. Whales. Crocodiles. Snakes. Millions of sand flies. I never figured I would see the places I have. To be able to visit locations I have only ever seen in photos. Now those photos are mine. The memories engraved in my mind for all of eternity.

And what memories they have been. The moments of pure happiness. The tears of pain. The times of trials and those moments were so bizarre all I could do was laugh. The time spent getting to know someone new and the many goodbyes that followed. The sunrises. The sunsets. The countless kilometers travelled by every mode possible. Plane. Train. Boat. Kayak. Bike. Bus. Car. Oh yeah – and foot.



Siobhan and I in Hanmer Spring's winter wonderland

 But most of all it’s been the people I remember most. The random strangers in the street. The instant friends that I can share anything with. The surrogate grandparents, brothers and sisters. And the numerous acting moms and dads that pretty well have to have a roster to sort out who can lecture me about walking home alone in the dark next. It’s those people that have made my journey what it has become. It’s those people that have made me feel at home – no matter how far from home I actually am.

So what now? That is the big question. The ironic thing is that there is no words like ‘wish,’ ‘should’ or ‘try’ floating around in my head. There’s just the big ‘I will’ and then – nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I haven’t a clue what it is that ‘I will’ do. I just know I will do it. There isn’t even the luxury of being able to choose my head or heart to follow – everything is muddled together. All I have is the luxury of choice and I haven’t quite figured out if ‘luxury’ is the best word to describe it.

Ever since that day I left home – over two years ago – it seems as though many of my decisions have come to me. As though they were meant to be. As though there could be no other way other than the one that lay before me. Maybe there was no other choice. Maybe there was. It didn’t matter much. I just went with it. And I have been going with it up until this point. Up until this moment in time. Up until now. And now everything has changed.

Now I just realize how much it is only me a part of this decision. It is only me who can make it. It is only me who will move forward. Wherever I go, I know I will have those who support me and those who may question it – but it is my decision to make. I think the big reason I hesitate in actually making the decision is the grieving process linked to what I will be letting go in order to make it. Whatever I choose will mean the end of something spectacular. It will not just mean the end of a chapter, but the end of a book. It will mean saying goodbye to so much that is a part of who I now am. It will mean letting go of the life I have come to love. It will mean saying goodbye to those I love.

But the other side of that door is looking pretty spectacular as well. What exactly is behind that door is a completely different question. I suppose time will tell and as everyone sits and waits in great anticipation (*rolls eyes*) I’ll just be here doing my pros and cons list. Weeding out what I want from what everyone else thinks I should do and eventually – I reckon it’s going to come down to a coin toss. All I know for certain is that whatever it is…. I WILL do it.

Practice Yoga

Practice yoga so you can remain active in physical sports as you age.

~ Lululemon

As time goes on here in Hanmer Springs, I find my mind to be continuously bogged down with what’s next. What’s the next big adventure? Where to go. What to do. All these question marks float around in my mind as I carry on going about my daily tasks of cleaning buildings, taking photographs, practicing for Robin Hood and writing a book about Te Araroa Trail. The only thing that is certain is that in about 1.5 months everything will come to a head and things will become clear on where I am to go from here. In the meantime I’ve found myself to be practicing a lot of yoga. Partly because it’s been quite cold to be outside running with my five fingers on. Partly because it’s been a really energizing way to start my day. But most of all, I’ve been doing it to clear my head of all the cobwebs.

When I go to work each day here at the camp, I find myself contemplating how much I enjoy working at such a place and how much I would like to go back to school to study community development so I can get more involved with projects such as this. When I take photographs of the camp for the website, I become inspired to pursue my art further with all the things I now want to create. When I head off to rehearsal twice a week I find that by the time I get back home I am thinking of all the reasons I wish I could stay longer in Hanmer Springs. When I get into writing my book about the adventure of Te Araroa Trail, I find myself entering a dream world of the many adventures I want to pursue in the future. The list never ends.

And so yoga has been there to keep me grounded. To keep me in the moment. The here and now. It not only strengthens my body, but my soul. It helps to focus my mind in clarity I otherwise would not have. I only hope that all the yoga I’m doing will benefit my athletic ability for when I get back into running. As brilliant as yoga is, it is nothing without running. Both sports go hand in hand and it feels wrong to do one without the other. But as the weather gets colder and colder, snow threatening to blanket the ground here at any moment – I can’t focus on that right now.

I find it funny to think that right now is probably the most unplanned I have been in my life. To look ahead and know that at the end of August there is a grey void of which I haven’t a clue what is to happen could be scary. But I am not scared. Whatever happens will happen. What is meant to be will be. Nothing more, nothing less. What I do know is that whatever it is that comes my way that gives direction on what is to come next will be big. It will be a life-changing moment, shaping my future to what it is meant to be.

And so yoga it is. Sun Salutations. Tree Pose. Downward Dog. Warrior. It doesn’t matter what it is – all that matters is that I continue doing it. Maybe it will open my mind to a new idea. Maybe it will strengthen my soul for what is yet to come. Maybe it will push my body to new heights. Maybe it will do nothing but give me self-satisfaction of doing something. All I know is that in my world of many maybe’s and not a lot of certainty, yoga is that one thing I can count on for my own time. Anywhere. Anytime. It is there for the taking and I love it.

Write Down Your GOALS

Write down your short and long-term GOALS four times a year. Two personal, two business and two health goals for the next 1, 5 and 10 years. Goal setting triggers your subconscious computer.

~ Lululemon

It is funny how time continues to slip past – days blend into one and it was only the other day that it began to sink in that my birthday is in less than a week. In precisely 2 days I will be celebrating the day I was born. Crazy to think that is now 25 years ago. Growing up I had never really thought much about what it would mean to be 25 years old. I had plans for when I turned 18 (go to University) and when I turned 20 (get married), and when I was 21 (have a child) – but nothing for past that. Those long-ago goals were something I dreamed up back when I was 6 or so and thought that being 18 would make me oh-so adult-like. At the time 25 seemed something of middle-age. I thought it should be something of the time when I would be settled down into my own family complete with a dog, 1.5kids and a white-picket fence. Right. Not exactly what my life has become.

Back when I was younger I never would have dreamed I would be where I am today, doing what I am doing. I never would have thought that I would be hunkered down in an insulation-free house with many layers on while the frost lays thick on everything outdoors. In the middle of June. I never thought I would have learned to drive on the left side of the road, much less just recently finished walking the length of New Zealand. I never thought I would be publishing articles, much less being in the process of writing a book. I never thought I would have the lead in a play – I never thought of the many things I am doing now, even a year ago – I never would have dreamed I would be in this moment now. But I am.

And so turning 25 just makes me realize how much can be fit into a year of my life. How much I can do – how far I can push my dreams. It makes me realize that anything is truly possible if I put my mind to it. And so I have – put my mind to it, that is. I figured such an occasion of turning 25 is only appropriate for starting to get some concrete goals in mind of where I want my life to go. It’s not about making plans with deadlines – it’s about dreaming big and allowing myself to not just spread my wings and fly, but soar up as high as I can. Because I can.

Taking on Lululemon manifesto, I have developed goals for the next 1, 5 and 10 years of my life. And they look pretty insane to me. Well – “insane” is probably the wrong word. They are all things I have longed to do for some time, but they are things that are seem so crazy and out of reach it’s hard to imagine them being obtainable. But hey – if I never would have thought in my wildest dreams I’d be here right now, then I reckon anything’s possible. Particularly if I have already had enough thought about it to know it is something I truly want for my life.

Who knows where life will take me. Maybe things will change drastically for me where new goals and dreams take a priority in my life. But that’s the thing – life isn’t about focusing on what we haven’t done but what we have and what we can do in the future. Because if I had done absolutely everything I wanted to do with my life I’d probably be living in a house with my best friend from elementary school where we shared bunk beds and we ate strawberries for every meal. Oh yeah – and I’d have a pet monkey and go to work on my magic carpet. For that I am glad that in life you can’t have everything.

Two days from now I turn 25 and rather than freaking out over being halfway to 50 or something equally ridiculous, I celebrate the fact that being this age allows me the freedom to be who I am. To do what I want to do – the responsibilities and otherwise. Life is what you make it and I reckon my life is pretty alright right now. I wouldn’t change a thing. Well – a magic carpet would still be pretty cool right about now.

Breathe Deeply

Breathe deeply and appreciate the moment. Living in the moment could be the meaning of life.

~ Lululemon

It’s funny how life goes. How some days everything seems so clear and precise with meaning and other days seem a blur of confusion as to which direction to go. Right now I am living very much in the latter. I feel torn with the endless amounts of options begging me to choose them and yet when I dig deep down into my soul to figure out what it is that I truly want – I honestly do not know. And so I wait. Wait for something to happen to give me direction. Wait for something to show its face and say this is the true way. Wait for a sign. A signal to indicate that one choice is better than the other.

Ironically enough, I do not think that there is any one thing that can guide me in the correct direction. I think that this is one of the few times in life of which it is completely up to me to choose which way I want to go. Choose my destiny. Choose my fate. Choose something that will change the way my life is forever.

Maybe I am wrong. Maybe this is all just a feeling and that is it. Maybe this moment in time isn’t so much a pinnacle of life-altering events that I will forever look back on and remember it as being “the” moment as it is just a mesh of choices of which my brain is too muddled to pick one from the lot of others. Or maybe, just maybe – this is life as it is meant to be when I finally decide to sit back and simply enjoy the ride. To just be.

Today I finally had time to simply do things such as go through my photos. I haven’t done that since – well, I don’t remember the last time. There has always been something else that needs doing. Something that proves to be more important than taking the time to reflect on where I have been and what I have done. It is crazy how many small memories have been slotted away, nearly forgotten until a glimpse at an old photograph brings it all back into focus. And so I spent time today going through such photos. Photos of my journey across British Columbia. Photos of the east coast of the States. Photos of Australia and the many adventures had with my year spent there. And then photos of trekking Te Araroa Trail here in New Zealand. It seems crazy to see where the last couple of years have taken me and I get the sense that my brain is still trying to play catch-up with the warped speed my life has been like.

Finally everything is slowing down enough that my life consists of enough regularity for me to finally be able to say that nothing “new” is going on. And it feels fabulous. But I still fight this deep urge to try and figure out what my next step is. Where I want to go. What I want to do. Who I want to be. The desire to constantly have a plan in place for tomorrow is so strong that it’s difficult to imagine a life without that need.

I have been avoiding writing my blog for that very reason. I find it hard to write about my life when there is nothing going on. When there are no plans in place to describe. When there is no amazing, crazy adventures being had. How does one switch from walking the length of a country to just living a normal life and yet still make it sounds as exciting? The reality is that I suppose my life isn’t completely normal right now. Not everyone lives at a camp 2.5km from town surrounded by mountains. Not everyone lives in a cabin that used to house forestry workers way-back-when they were doing research on the local forest. Not everyone does a shower dance under lukewarm water every time they want to get clean and dries their hair by a hand dryer. Not everyone has the luxury of choosing between two channels on the television every night or relishes the feeling of the lounge FINALLY getting warm after 3hrs of blasting the timed heater. Not everyone gets the opportunity to make a fool of themselves in a local production of Robin Hood whilst being Robin Hood himself. Yup – I suppose my life is still something of an adventure, even in all its normality.

So, in that regard, all this babbling leads me to the point that I started getting to last time I wrote. Sometimes it’s more important to appreciate the moment life is at rather than wishing it away in a heap of plans for the future. So here I am – not knowing what I want to do next. Not knowing where I want to go or who I want to be. Not knowing what place I want to explore next. Not knowing when I’ll ever make my way back to Canada. I am here not knowing a lot of things, but I think I am okay with that. Because life here right now is pretty good.

Things have even started to quiet down around the camp as winter is starting to push its way through and it makes me excited. Excited because the pressure of people is coming to a close. It means more time to breathe. More time to be. More time to live in the moment as it is and not be wishing for something more. It means more time to reflect on things that once were – that have been – to enjoy where I am at and what I am doing now. To be proud of who I am at this very moment. Not wanting, not needing something that I do not have. To just be.