gratuitous picture of my face... hey! you're welcome.
I’m not going to lie, recently I’ve found myself wanting to put off updating this blog.
Now, this isn’t because nothing entirely incredible is happening to me right now, it’s just… I’m sort of settling into a regular rhythm, I reckon. There’s still so much to do and experience, but for now, maybe, are things becoming a bit less frantic. Life is just becoming normal, here. When I think about writing up my week for all of you folks, I start to worry that I haven’t been doing anything interesting enough to keep you all reading. I also find that I’m taking less photographs of my surroundings; maybe my eyes aren’t as starry as they were when I first arrived, but this is probably also down to the fact that the city isn’t exactly beautiful at the moment. Toronto is in a transition right now. The picturesque, snowy streets have gone, everything has nearly melted, revealing mulchy, dry, dead plants and trash. Spring is taking her sweet time.
But don’t get me wrong, I’m still in love with this city and my new life here. On the mornings I work, I walk down the street to the office, more often than not, the sun is high and beaming down on me from the east, the CN Tower visible above the rooftops. I smile and remind myself of how lucky I am. "I made it,” is still a thought I have, almost every day.
I remember having one of these moments on a cold evening as I was walking through town to meet a friend. It was dark and chilly, and I was slap bang in the centre of downtown. I was feeling a bit jittery and nervous, the traffic was rushing past me and I was having one of those “outer body experience” days, you know the kind, where everything is slightly off kilter and a bit weird. I was walking down Queen Street to Bay — a big intersection, right next to Hudson’s Bay, the Toronto equivalent of Jenners, or Harvey Nicks. I looked up at the skyscrapers of the Financial District, and caught sight of the Canada Life building. It’s tall, with a beacon that sits on its rooftop, the light flashing and changing colour depending on the weather, and big illuminated letters underneath, beaming out the words Canada Life for all to see across downtown. “Canada Life,” I said to myself, as I kept my eyes locked to it while walking north on Bay. “Canada Life, Canada Life, Canada Life,” I repeated, letting the words fall into rhythm with my brisk steps. I started to calm down, and with each repetition of this new mantra, I felt a rush of energy invigorate me. I couldn’t believe it — Canada Life was my life, I was living the Canada Life!
It’s this kind of exhilaration that I should tap into when I’m writing this blog for all of you. The last thing I ever want to do is let these updates fall by the wayside, just because I started feeling complacent with my surroundings. I’m in this place that I’ve intertwined so tightly with my own ideas of destiny — the least I can do it keep looking at it with this sense of wonder and readiness.
So, this week I was busy busy busy. I wanted to prove to myself as much as to Mr. Swipey that I was not the lonely, crying girl at the bus stop, and I didn’t need to use anyone here as an emotional crutch. I had to prove that I could go out, be myself, make a million friends and have a blast while doing it.
I’d had another interesting reply to my Craigslist advert - a girl who played violin wanted to meet me. I told her to come to the Free Times Cafe open mic on Monday night. After a full day of work I ran back home to get my guitar and shovel some food down my throat before jumping into a taxi to head over to College Street. My taxi driver greeted me and asked how my day was going. We started chatting, and came to the subject of stories. “I have a lot of stories from driving this taxi around,” he said. I asked him to tell me one. “Ok, what do you want to hear?” Something with danger, I replied. He thought for a couple of minutes before telling me about one night: it was very late, and a man in a suit got in to his car. The guy had a slight mafioso look about him, and was drunk as a skunk. “He was talking to me, telling me about this time that he killed a man,” the taxi driver told me. “He told me he killed this guy and was explaining how he had to go and bury the body and everything.” Holy crap! Now that was a story. “I just wanted to drop him off as soon as possible,” my driver laughed. He told me a couple of other stories, and asked for one in return. I told him one of my favourite stories, the skiing story, which, if you know me, you’ll probably have heard it before. If not, then… well, just wait. I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you.
At Free Times I met Rebecca, my new violin friend. She was sitting with a cup of tea at a table in the corner. At the other side of the table was this young man who I couldn’t keep my eyes off of — he was gorgeous. He looked like the long lost member of One Direction. The open mic started, it was a small venue and more of an “old man” type of scene, with a lot of folksongs. Eventually the guy opposite Rebecca and I got up to play. We both whispered to each other about just how goshdarn cute he was. “I just wanna put him in my pocket,” Rebecca said. I agreed. The guy got up behind the piano and started bashing out this fantastic, campy ballad called “My Love Don’t Come Cheap,” complete with the most brilliant lyric, “I’ll be your playboy,” the notes on which he always managed to squeak as he sung them, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows to the rhythm of the words. Rebecca and I looked at each other, registering looks which said, I don’t think we’re his type.
Angèle, my other Craigslist musician pal, came along with a couple of her friends. I got up on stage and played everyone my newest song and also Toronto, because it felt like the right kind of place to play Toronto. I told everyone the story about my longing to come to Canada, and my fears, and the fortune teller’s prediction, the Canada card.
I’ve been thinking about the Canada card a lot recently, in relation to what I’m doing and why I’m here, in the Great White North. I bought a Tarot deck the other day. Yes, family, please call me a heathen, say what you will. My friends all know I’m a bit woo-woo when it comes to this stuff: I read my horoscope, I believe in signs from the Universe, I have spent many a good evening and afternoons in cafes reading tea leaves with my English Literature friends, I will happily chatter on and on about destiny and fate — my mind just works that way. I can’t not help but find synchronicity and magic in day-to-day life, I find it necessary — it focuses me. I bought the Tarot deck in a small shop on Queen Street West, took it home, and set up a chair in the corner of my small bedroom as a special place for it. I put a candle I bought recently (it smells of vanilla and campfire smoke) and my rock collection (three stones — one from Scotland, another from Iceland, and the third from Canada) on a little floral pillowcase I’d laid on the chair as a sort of makeshift tablecloth. I lit the candle and started up a playlist on my computer of my most favourite, favourite songs. As Bruce Springsteen began to sing New York City Serenade, I closed my eyes and held the deck in my hand, relaxing myself and thinking about Canada, why I was here and what this year was yet to bring me.
I shuffled the cards, placing the deck on my floor and spreading it apart with my hand, letting the cards mix and cover the space in front of me. I mussed them about with both of my hands, before then collecting them to put back together. As I picked up some of the shuffled cards, a few fell in front of me to reveal their faces. I took it as a sign and looked up the one on top: The Wheel of Fortune. This card that had revealed itself to me meant that fate was at hand. The Wheel of Fortune was a card that meant that a change was happening, or about to happen, that was integral to my destiny. I smiled, because as I’d been shuffling the cards I’d been focusing with great intent on my time here in Canada, and what it would show me.
After collecting the cards, I took a great amount of time in turning each one over and re-organising them in their correct categories: Major Arcana and the Houses of Cups, Pentacles, Wands and Swords. Now the whole deck was arranged properly, I stacked the cards again and shuffled once more, now focusing on the question of what I needed to know or focus on for the rest of this week. I closed my eyes and shuffled for about a minute, repeating my intent over and over. I separated the cards into three piles, and stacked them up again. Then I laid the pile on the floor and used my hand to fan the cards out. My hand hovered over them, before resting on the back of one card nestled in the middle of the deck. I pulled it out. It was The Wheel of Fortune.
Take from that what you will. I’m going to make a promise to now to return to this blog next week with a host of exciting stories and pictures to share with you all. Keep on spinning your own Wheels of Fortune, I see my own spinning, like a moon shining like the beacon above the Canada Life sign.
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