Someday Syndrome

Mad Driving Skills

Oh my gawd! Was I, like, ever a car commercial the other night! There I was zooming along mountain roads, turning right then left, one hairpin turn after another. It was frakkin' awesome.

I so totally couldn't be scared, you know? Because I couldn't see the way scary drop off on either side of the car. The only thing in my line of sight was, like, the road, potentially suicidal mice, and the headlights of cars whizzing towards me.

Fleur so awesomely outdid herself. She's totally getting an oil change.

Someday Lessons:

• Not knowing exactly how badly you could screw up makes life a lot more fun.
• Keep an eye on what your doing and what's coming your way, and ignore the rest.

The Trouble With Small Towns

As you know, I have no patience. I bought my car on Tuesday and as of Sunday I haven't driven it yet. This time, I'm waiting for my insurance papers to arrive.

And it's killing me.

I can't stand that I own a car but that I'm not allowed to drive it!

Of course the wait has been made worse by the fact that I gave the insurance broker the wrong address – not mine, but cousin's (actually my cousin's neighbour's). I thought I was giving the broker my cousin's address so that I would have a bill with my soon-to-be address in France on it. In France you often need a copy of a bill to get other services, like a cell phone, to convert my driving license to a French one, and to change my address with the bank.

If this were a big city, the insurance papers would be delivered to the address on the envelope. But this is rural France where the Post Office knows where everyone lives. So the insurance papers could end up at:

1. My place (the Post Office recognized my name)
2. My cousin's (if the letter was sent "care of")
3. Her neighbour's (the address on the envelope)
4. Back at the post office (because the neighbour doesn't know my name).

And I have no control over any of it.

Good thing I don't believe in divine actions, or I'd think the Universe might be trying to teach me a something.

Someday Lessons:

• "The Simple Life" where everyone knows everyone else has its own complications.
• To a person who likes to be in control, there is nothing worse than waiting.

Simple is Not Easy

Really, it's not. Simple is the opposite of complex; easy is the opposite of difficult.

For example, on Monday I help friends prepare concrete to lay the floor in the house they are building. The recipe for concrete is very simple:

• 4 buckets water
• 40 shovels of gravel/sand
• 2 35kg bags lime
• 20 shovels of gravel/sand
• Extra water as necessary
• Let the mixer turn until the right consistency has been achieved
• Pour into wheelbarrows and dump the concrete into designated spots.

Sounds simple, right? But do that 25 times and you find it's not easy.

No, given how after this I fell asleep at 9pm on Monday and was a zombie all day yesterday (hence no post the past few days), prepping concrete is not easy.

So why did I do it? I mean, I'm the Easy Life Evangelist. Why do something that isn't easy?

Because I want physical activity to become easy.

In my upcoming nomadic life, I'm going to be working hard five hours a day. In many cases the work won't be simple either. Pruning trees or building a dry stone wall sound simple, but I'm sure they are very complex tasks.

I don't mind that. In fact, I quite like complex. I don't like difficult.

I've made a choice of lifestyle. I'm not going to need much. To most people's way of thinking I'm going to be living a very simple life. I don't care about that. I want an easy life. So instead of changing my lifestyle, I'm going to change my body and my endurance, turning difficult into easy.

Plus I'll end up having a kick-ass body.

Someday Lessons:

• Don't confuse easy with simple; easy can be quite complex too.
• Your life may detour through difficult before reaching easy.

Simply Sick

My travel curse continues. Instead of making me miss trains or delaying flights, the curse has taken up residence in my sinuses. I blame Ireland. Ireland weakened my sinuses and now whenever I board a train, every single bacteria and virus floating around in the recycled air attacks me.

On the one hand, it's makes a royal mess of travel plans and limits my fun. On the other hand, it saves me money and simplifies my days. For example, after yesterday's IKEA trip, I came home and napped – from two-thirty to nine o'clock. I stayed awake for two hours then went back to sleep until nine this morning. That's sixteen and a half hours of sleep in a single day. Talk about a simplified day! Plus I spent nothing on dinner, drink or clubbing.

I might try to go out this evening, but I have a feeling I'll be wiped by eight o'clock.

I'm irritated that I'm sick again, but the not-going-out part doesn't bother me. I'm almost relieved. I didn't really want to go out but felt I should. Why else would I come to Bordeaux? If I wanted to stay in, I could have remained in Sauveterre.

But I have accomplished something each day and that's pretty good. Friday I bought some clothes (mainly for walking in the rain) and had a great dinner with some online friends. Yesterday was the IKEA trip (mmmm... IKEA…).

Today is beautifully sunny and warm enough to sit outside (yes at the end of November woo hoo!). I think I'll spend the day at cafés writing. I've ignored my novel the last few days. Sunny Bordeaux patios sound like just the right remedy for annoyingly full sinuses.

Someday Lessons:

• We all do too many things that we feel we should do. Stop it.
• If you don't simplify your schedule, the universe will for you and it will be much less enjoyable that way.

Lunch Today:
A leek quiche and a mint tea

Those Who Can't Do, Teach

That's so true for me. I make a living telling other people how simplify their schedules, how to make balanced decisions about actions and choices. But I can't do it for myself. In my seminars, I tell audiences about how I use an organizer when I need to make decisions, because my reasons behind choices and actions are not simple.

Take this week. I was productive, but feeling off-centre. I spent the first few days of the week alone, recovering from my sinus infection. This made me feel lonely, which put me in a place I first started going to as a teen – my non-existent space. When I spend too much time alone I get bouts of non-existence, which disconnect me from the world. I feel outside of everything.

This outsiderness is great for writing. This week I came up with and started a new (fiction) book idea. It's not so good for my ability to interact with others, however. During these bouts, I feel I need to be with people, but when I'm with people I feel like I'm intruding, no matter how open and receptive people are.

I wouldn't want to lose this sensation because it is creatively fruitful, but it is hard on the emotions. I recognize it when it comes, so I wait until it passes, resisting the urge to throw myself at people in a clingy neurotic way, but not totally isolating myself either.

I knew coming to France that I'd feel lonely and experience bouts of non-existence. I'm just glad that they held off until I was well-settled here, otherwise I might have fled.

Someday Lessons:

• Simple decisions are often the hardest to make; don't complicate them – get help.
• Be aware of why you act certain ways. It'll help you avoid repeating unproductive actions.

Lunch Today:
Kamut Crepe Quesadillas

Random Simpleness Thoughts

Directness used to scare the crap out of me. I'd come at everything passively, full of suggestions, nary a direct statement in sight. Then I had a Portuguese boyfriend who thought that anything other than complete directness was a cop-out. I learned a lot from him, but managed to keep an edit button, knowing when to sidle up to something instead of meeting it head on.

Take my writing for example. It's like a skittish cat, hiding under the porch when it sees me coming. And just like a cat, it comes demanding attention at the least practical moments. I can't approach my writing directly, saying "come here." I have to gain its trust before I can be that direct with it.

I couldn't have done this trust-building in Toronto. My life was too full. I only had time to watch its tail whip past me. I needed to come here and sit with my writing. No pressure. No expectations.

It's been difficult. As I've said before, I feel guilty. I feel lazy, or that the writing is going to stay hidden under the porch forever. On the plus side the waiting has taught me more patience, plus I nap a lot more than I ever have. That's pretty simple.

I've been reading a fun (but odd) blog, called Words for My Enjoyment. A recent post talked about the need to give very complex instructions for very simple tasks (like turning on the TV). It's very easy to tell people that I moved here and now write. Very simple instructions: step 1 – move; step 2 – write. But if someone had explained to me the process as a step by step how-to, the number of details would have overwhelmed me and I would have stayed in Toronto, never writing.

You can tell by the randomness of this posting that I'm still not clear on it all. Is what I'm doing simple? Yes. And no.

Would I change anything? No.

Someday Lessons:

1. Don't let the details deter you.
2. Sometimes the simple action is the hardest to take.

Lunch Today:
Steak with Roquefort Sauce and Green Beans.