Fun in the Sun

Approximately a month of summer break has passed. I can't say that it's been an eventful one, but it's been nice. I've spent a lot of time indoors despite the beautiful the weather. I've written -or rather, started- a flurry of blogposts. For some reason, I cannot summon the energy, nor the right words, to complete any of my blogposts entirely. I haven't went outside on many occasions, but between my vacation in Banff and my occasional relaxing strolls, I have nonetheless enjoyed the weather. I love the sun and the warmth, though it has made me more lethargic than usual. Happily, my self-confinement has also kindled a desire to go outside, hence my nightly strolls. Because one of my friends is off in Europe for the whole break, I have really only been left with one good friend to hang out with. Unfortunately, my friend's tremendously busy schedule of baseball practice, has made it nearly impossible for us to see each other.

Until this week that is. This is the week that my friend is free from baseball! She managed to qualify for the provincial championships, and in preparation, her coach was kind enough to give the team a week off before the big touranament. Being my best friend, she decided to spend that week with me! After calling me, the two of us agreed on meeting at the pool and going for a swim. I very much enjoy tanning myself to a crisp as well, so being the scorching day that it was, I was sure that our meeting would be wonderful. And it was.

We were eating, drinking, swimming, tanning, and being merry. That is, until my friend brought up an extremely depressing topic.

My friend and I met in grade eight on a sunny day in April. We went to the same school, but didn't have any classes together. One day, when I had come to school with a relatively stuffed school bag, some children came to ask me what I had in it. I responded that I had a flight scheduled for Hawai'i that evening, which meant that I had to bring my luggage to school and go straight to the airport afterwards. With this in mind, about seven of my peers offered to actually take me to the airport, she was one of them. Obviously, I accepted their kind offer. And in that short trip to the airport, actually formed a good bond with her. Two years later, and we're still great friends! But that's beside the point.
So, what was this extremely depressing topic? Teen pregnancy.
In grade 8, I went to a school filled with problematic teens. Blow jobs were happening in the change rooms between classes, and marijuana was a normal part of existence. As you may have concluded, it wasn't the best school for expanding your horizons academically. Now, I had been accepted to a handful of other schools and gifted programs over the city, but because the majority of my classmates were headed over to this school, I followed.
Realizing that it was a mistake, I quickly applied, and after getting accepted, transferred schools. Initially, it was hard for me to leave my friends, but my new school suited me a lot better. The people there were a lot more similar in personality to me.
Incredibly, the events which I witnessed while attending the school were nowhere near the events which would reveal themselves in the two years after my leaving.
One year after I left, a girl from my grade gave birth to a baby. A boy from my grade is the father. The girl, well that was expected, but the boy, not so much. Let me put it into perspective: I'm 16. To have a child at the age of 15, and refuse to abort it because you are "in love", well that's just beyond me.
I can't possibly fathom taking care of a baby at this age. I feel bad and careless at the same time for these two kids. Moreover, I feel icky that this was no "one-off".
No. In the past two years since I left, at least seven girls have gotten pregnant. One has given birth, another is expecting, and the rest have aborted. Most know who the father is, a few don't. And honestly, I'm almost at a loss for words. I'm not quite sure how to describe the dramatic change which has occurred at my old school. Moreover, I don't know how to feel.
I contemplate what would have happened had I stayed at my old school. How bad would it actually be?
I thank my friend for keeping me informed, but I feel confused.

The Great Outdoors - Part 1

I am currently situated in a quaint little village just outside the famously beautiful town of Banff. It is a small town in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. It is a nature lover's dream. All the features someone could possibly want and ask for of a picturesque mountain scene. There is hiking, animals, lakes, mountains, dirt, rocks and miles of grey highway. In fact, I hear that the movie Narrow Margin was filmed here.

Needless to reiterate, it's quite majestic.

Now here's the question? Am I enjoying my mountain retreat, my getaway, my vacation? No, I am far from enjoyment and bliss. I quite despise it. This trip was suggested to me by my lovely father, an outdoorsman. This trip was supposed to inspire me, to pull me out of my spiral of uninspiredness, to save me from falling into the depths of unimaginative oblivion. I think that it has quite succeeded in that goal, for I am very inspired. A fire has been lit in my soul, so great, so bright, that I feel more inspired than I have in months. Inspired from hatred and ire, however, not from pleasantry.

Yes, the miraculaous nature riles me. It fills me with hate. What causes me more anger and distress is the knowing that I endured a hardy 10 hours confined in a car behind an incredibly irritating seatbelt. And for what? So that I could see some mountains? So that I could exert myself on the beaten, dirt path up one if those mountains. All in search of what? A lake, some coniferous forest? Really?

I hate to say this, but I see no beauty in it anymore. It is not special to me in any way. But of course, Hawaii isn't special to me anymore, yet I still adore it. Why? Because I adore the beach, and the waves and the warmth and the feeling of salt water as it splashes against my navel. But is there any feature of this kind of nature that I adore? Sadly no. I don't like dirt, I don't like getting dirty, I don't like exercise, I don't like rocks, I don't like vegetation and I especially don't like bugs.

Oh mosquitoes, they are the worst! I would gladly eradicate them if I could. I just generally dislike all the characteristics associated with a mountain setting.
The mountains seemed to instigate a huge amount of rage in me. It had become increasingly easy to set me off. Every small flaw seemed grave. Had I been given the chance, I would have broken someone's nose. I was psychologically incapable of coming to terms with the knowledge that I had to hike. With each statement of elevation gain and length, I fell into a deeper state of melancholia and lethargy. I didn't want to do it. People cannot understand why, nor how it is possible to despise walks through mountains and forest to such an extent. I just do. Physically, it's fine. I am strong and conditioned enough to survive just about any hike. For example, a few years ago, I survived the hike up Whistler Mountain - a staggering 21km But did I enjoy it? Absolutely not. Don't get me wrong, it's not like the lakes and mountain tops aren't beautiful, it's just that they're all the same. At least to me, that is. I feel that each one is similar and that the strenuous hike required to get to the top is not worth it. But that's just me.

I never grew up dreaming to be like Heidi, or the woman from The Sound of Music. I was perfectly content with city life. I don't like Vancouver because of it's rainy, disgusting climate. But, I would not trade living in a big city for "the simple life".

Or at least, that's what I thought at the start of this trip.
By the end of this trip I had started to like the mountains. They had begun to grow on me. And just as my attitude started to evolve from negative to positive, I was yanked from the Rockies and shipped back to Vancouver.
I don't know why my attitude started to change, but it did. I was sitting in the backseat of my car, and, as we made the drive from Calgary to Banff, an immense calm came over me. As I watched as the wind blow on the grass, I felt at peace.

Quantity v. Quality

It's an age old question. One of those that can be debated into the wee hours of the morning with no conclusion. It's the question of quantity or quality. Before I get into it, take a moment to consider it for yourself. Would you rather have a plethora of something "meh" or a few of something really good. I'll give you two examples so that you have a better idea of what I'm saying, and an easier time of determining what your view on the issue is:

1) Let's talk about food. Let's assume that you don't like fish and chips a lot, but that you are a huge fan of oatmeal (I know that it's an odd and mostly unrealistic example, but bear with me). So, one fine day, you get to choose between a good portion of fish and chips (a hardy 2 fillets with a heaping pile of warm fries) or a delicious pack of your favourite oatmeal. (Note I said "pack". One, single pack.) If you've ever eaten oatmeal from  those instant packs, you know they aren't very big. In fact, they're so small that I'd doubt one pack could satisfy a toddler. So, which do you choose? A little bit of incredibly delicious oatmeal or a satisfying amount of average-tasting fish and chips?

2) For the second example, let's talk about people. If you could be the "popular" kid in school, and have flocks of acquaintances, but no really close friends, would you? Or would you rather have one or two very close friends, but not many broader connections?  

Based on the two examples I provided above, you should be able to come to some sort of vague conclusion as to what kind of person you are and what you value more. Regardless of what you value, I encourage you to keep reading. My critique will be about this philosophical question in terms of life. I will be advocating for the "#YOLO" mentality (moderately, of course!)

As you may have guessed, I prefer quality. I'm one of those people who believe that life should be good. That every breathing moment should be lived as comfortably as possible. Obviously, this varies for people, because the definition of "comfort" varies for everyone. Take another moment to consider what comfort means for you. 

Before I begin delving deeper, let me explain why I was so inclined to write this post. I was inspired by my friend, and by many of the people who live in Vancouver, particularly joggers. 

On one of Vancouver's many rainy days, I was walking down Robson street. I was on my way home from school, which was the only reason I was outside. (Generally, I refuse to exit my home if there is so much as a cloud in the sky, but school sadly requires me to leave often.) I was on my way out of one bus, and had to walk down about a block of Robson to reach my next bus stop to get home. This was unfortunate because it required me to get wet in the rain, but I had to do it. When I made it to the shelter of the bus stop, I sat down and impatiently waited for the next bus. Of course, as is the usual case, the bus was nowhere to be seen. Looking back, I am extremely satisfied that that bus was late because it gave me time to think and even undergo an epiphany.

No bus, lots of rain and humid, dewy people - ain't life grand? I stared into space, looking for something to turn my attention away from the anger I was experiencing because of the bus's tardiness. There it was! But it didn't help with my anger, it amplified it. It was a woman. A woman dressed in tight Lululemon leggings, a NorthFace windbreaker and hot pink Asics running shoes. Her blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail and raindrops dripped from her nose with each gallop. She was jogging. It was repulsing, pathetic and vomit-inducing. She was running in this weather. Why? Why? Why? Why would anyone condemn themselves to this? 

Luckily, I quickly realized that she wasn't the only woman I had ever seen doing this. No, hundreds of women run by me each day in their pathetic workout attire, in all kinds of weather, in their sad attempt to stay healthy. This one just happened to be the subject of my wrath that day. 

Anyway, this woman got me thinking about my friend. My friend, who has intensely muscular legs for a 16-year-old girl. My friend, who is so repulsed my McDonald's food that she refuses to consume a single fry. My friend, who forces herself to perform physical activity, in the form of running, on a daily basis, at the encouragement of her father overseas. My friend, who tries her very best at running races in school and thus possesses a school record. My friend, who went on a diet consisting exclusively of fruit to lose imaginary weight to please her visiting parents. (I really do like her, it's just these aspects annoy me.)

Anyway, the problem I saw with my friend and these women was, firstly, that they were doing most of these things to please other people as oppose to themselves, and secondly, that they were doing these chores not because they enjoyed them, but because they believed they could reap some benefits from them in the future. Let me make 2 things perfectly clear. Firstly, I do believe that there are benefits to physical activity. Secondly, I understand that these women may be doing some of these things because they enjoy them, or to please themselves, but that's beside the point. 

These women were suppressing their lives, in order to extend them. That is what repulses me. Their quality of life is low, but, as a result of that, they will most likely outlive idle, cheeseburger eating folks like me by a decade or so.
Do I regret it? Absolutely not. I'm happy with my life and it makes me feel good to do the bare minimum in PE class, and to never workout on my own will, and to eat whatever I feel like eating. So, would I sacrifice 10 extra years of senior-ism and a cellulite-free butt for living comfortably and peacefully? Yeah, I guess I would. What's the point to 10 extra years, anyways? If you outlive all your friends, then what? You'll suffer from deep misery knowing that it was mistake to hesitate from all those small, simple pleasures of life.
Look, I think that the mental burden of waking up each day with the fear of missing a run or accidentally eating something with carbohydrates is more harmful to a person's life than actually not running. But that's just me.
So, to all those joggers decked out in thin, see-through Lululemon and in deep states of depression because their delusional wishes of fitting in eventually come to no avail - relax. Don't worry. Everyone will eventually die, so don't do things to make them happy because they won't be able to judge you for long. Don't restrain yourself for such a huge portion of your life because you'll never get it back, and when you have no one to turn to in your raw vegan book club, you'll regret the running during the torrential rain because you'll know that deep down, you hated it.
Don't make the task of life any longer than you want it to be. Think about it, if you hate running, then do you really want to add those extra years to your life? In reality, those extra years amount to extra suffering and extra diets and extra runs and extra muscles in your thighs.