Month: February 2016

It’s a well known fact that the sense most closely linked to memory is smell. I can’t dispute that. There are certain scents that trigger long forgotten moments of my childhood. Memories of people. Memories of places. They catch me off guard when they happen, flood gates open, and clear as day, a piece of the past I didn’t realize even existed is revealed.

For me, a close second is sound…music in particular. I’m not only referring to the romantic, “our song” scenario. Though, those can be pretty special!  Nearly every song I hear is associated with a person or situation that has impacted me in some way.

For instance, my Grade 6 talent show,  I can tell you what  song everyone in my class performed. In fact, given the opportunity, I could likely perform all of their dance moves too.  Shania Twain’s Any Man of Mine still makes me want to shimmy and shake my way across a stage.  Don’t play it for me — it won’t actually happen. ( k, maybe).

Listening to Extreme’s  More than Words ( perfect band and song title choice for such an epic ballad), I picture an out of control karaoke Christmas party with my oldest friends at the apartment my husband and I rented when we first moved in together. It was also the party that marked the introduction of SHOTLUCK, a tradition which has lived on, and continues to get messier each year.

Under the Boardwalk transports me back to a New Year’s party where I was 7 or 8 years old. It was an adults only event, but , as my parents were hosting, I had been allowed down in my jammies to check things out.  The Drifters came on, and my parent’s started dancing together. I’m not sure why that moment stuck with me. I had seen them dance countless of times before that. A sentimental sap even then, it struck a chord with me. I couldn’t imagine a better example of what love looked like.

The moment doesn’t have to be monumental. It can be something simple.

When I hear Justin Timberlake’s,  Sexy Back, I immediately feel rattled! I ruined that one for myself; it was the alarm on my cell phone for far too many months. Whenever I hear it, I experience that awful, ‘I’m late for life’ feeling .

Brandy’s, Full Moon brings me back to the hip hop class I so desperately wanted to love but only survived 5 or 6 weeks of because I couldn’t feel myself up in a mirror without bursting out laughing. Trust me, you would have laughed too had you witnessed my take on ‘seduction’.

No matter where I am, or how shit of a day I’m having, when I hear Chris Brown’s Forever, I feel like I’m on a sunny vacation, two to… eeee… ten drinks in, tearing up the dance floor with my best friends, and my mood instantly improves!

As long as there’s music in the world, no feeling is ever truly gone for good. Given that, I think we owe a debt of gratitude to the all the artists out there.  Not only does their music live on long after they’re gone,  they help us hold onto memories long after the moments have passed. So thank you to the rockers, the rappers, the pop princesses, and even the country superstars … for creating the soundtrack to our lives.

Certain things lose their meaning as we get older. Unfortunately, things that used to excite us can become lack lustre in comparison to the joy they once brought. For me, the meaning of one particular event falls perfectly under that category… Sick Days.

Only slightly less appealing than a snow day, a sick day held all the promise of a spoiled day spent in my parents’ bed, with my mother acting as my own personal nurse. Propped up among countless fluffy pillows, I’d have the rare opportunity to not only watch TV in bed, but to play whatever gaming system was popular at the time (courtesy of my brother, who would begrudgingly set it up for me before leaving for the day).

A sick day from school didn’t always mean I was sick enough that I couldn’t properly function. I just had to be sick enough to convince my mother that it was unwise to send me out into the world. Once I had received the final verdict that school indeed could wait until tomorrow, I’d immediately begin planning my day. Between the scandalous talk shows and soap operas I wasn’t, “technically” allowed to watch, and the constant check-ins by my mother punctuated with soup, flat ginger ale, and soda crackers, the time would fly by.

These days, sick days mean something else entirely. A sick day now can only be taken when you’re absolutely incapable of doing anything, and, worse yet, they’re limited! Using a sick day to get caught up on ‘Days of Our Lives’ is no longer an option. Sick days are ACTUAL sick days, where I lay in bed, motionless, until the undeniable urge to vomit forces me to race for the bathroom. The sad part is, when you return from a sick day, the pile of work you left from the day before has gotten even bigger, and your inbox is full of messages from people who have been impacted by your absence.

What I wouldn’t give to spend a sick day the way I did when I was 10 years old! Fortunately for me, some things never change. When I’m sick, my mother still brings me soup, and fluffs my pillows. I’m pretty sure she’d even still hold my hair back while I throw up if I asked her to. Now, if only something could be done about that pesky little thing called a career…

On my 11^th birthday I received a diary as one of my many gifts. Labelled with, “My Diary” in gold script across the cover and shut tight with a false lock, the bright red book wasn’t exactly winning any points for discretion. Intrigued by the idea of writing down my deepest, darkest secrets, I instantly vowed to record my thoughts on a daily basis.

Over the years I’ve kept many journals. At times I’ve gone months, or even years without so much as an entry… but I’ve always returned to the habit.

The process of keeping a journal is twofold; release and reflect. The cycle isn’t complete without both parts so if you’ve been keeping a journal forever and have never re-read what you’ve written, it’s time to change that!

Part One: The Release

For me, writing down my feelings became the perfect release. Over the years, my journal entries have saved me from picking fights with friends, announcing irrational fears, and confessing undying love to complete strangers. If proclaiming a thought to the world makes it real to everyone who hears it, writing it down makes it real only to the author. In so many cases, that’s all I needed…. to legitimize my feelings, even if only for a split second.

Part Two: Reflection

The release provided by writing my thoughts down is undeniably helpful, but the reflection phase is even more cathartic. It may take months, or even years… but nearly every entry has given me insight into another situation in my life.

A journal is like a friend who knows you better than you know yourself. Or perhaps it’s like an extension of yourself that speaks with clarity. I’ve read pieces of my life on pages and hardly recognized my own thoughts. It’s almost as though it came from someone else entirely. Someone who at times may have overreacted and overanalyzed! Nonetheless, my own writing has often helped me see the bigger picture. True to the, “this too shall pass” sentiment when I read the thoughts of a heartbroken teenager, or a terrified 20 year old, I take some comfort in how huge those problems seemed at the time, and how very far away they are now. There are also moments of reflection on truly important things… things that still matter today as much as they did then. Revisiting those memories on paper somehow gives me the strength I need to deal with the continued fallout they’ve caused, and the courage to accept the fact that I don’t have to have it all figured out today.