Fore!

I got up today and desperately wanted to go golfing. Unfortunately, I couldn't go golfing because I quit three years ago as a protest against the negative environmental impact golf courses have. Yet, I was so close to picking up the phone and finding a tee time somewhere.

I miss those days, when I would get up on a lazy weekend morning and spontaneously go golfing. Remembering that sweet ping when you connect perfectly with the ball under the warmth of the hot sun. Or how about that accurately placed approach shot which leaves the ball close enough for an eagle putt. And sometimes it was just about the small victories like a chip from the bunker that doesn't have you covered with sand. I entertained the idea for quite some time, thinking 'just one game, how could that hurt' and spent a couple hours searching on the internet for some study or article detailing how golf courses are perfectly harmless.

It's disappointing that I am willing sacrifice my beliefs for personal gain. It's even more disappointing that I can't automatically stick to my value system, that first an internal struggle against temptation must take place. And most disappointing of all, is that I, a person that's as self righteous as anybody else, has often times been weak and forgone my convictions. Today was victorious and I stayed home; my character of tomorrow is still questionable.

Choices

So I'm happily living from day to day, minding my own business and settled into a comfortable daily routine while agonizing over the meaning of life and questioning society, la dee da. Then suddenly, I am presented with an option, a life changing option and everything gets all confusing. Being, quite possibly, the worst decision maker on the planet, I can't say that options are a good thing for me.

Years ago I submitted a resume to a recruiting company that specializes in overseas jobs. Recently they contacted me about an opportunity in Bermuda. After finally resigning to settling in Calgary and showing my commitment by hanging things on the walls of my condo, this opportunity was unwelcomed. It got me questioning the things that troubled me in the past, resurrecting thoughts about staying in Calgary and if should be more career focused.

Instead of my usual approach of delaying things and letting indecision play itself out, I made a pros and cons list.

Pros
1. Escaping winter's misery and a city I don't really care for
2. Basking in the Bermudan sun, wearing flip flops 24/7, and playing tennis outdoors all year around

Cons
1. Hassles of moving and disrupting Rogue's environment
2. Leaving friends and family, especially my two gorgeous nephews.

Hmmmm, two for two. Then I received this picture of my nephews and my decision was made.

I realize that I don't often mention the 2 most important people I know, my nephews, Zaman and Jibraan. Simply put, with them anything about everything makes sense, and my insignificant worries don't matter anymore. I won't get that in Bermuda or anywhere else.

My 'first' massage

"Book a massage" was never something you would have ever seen on any of my to-do lists. Although many swear by the wonders of having a stranger rub their hands all over you, it hasn't been something that ever appealed to me. In fact, the thought was so horrid that I had accepted and adapted to the random back spasms, tingling fingers, sharp arm pains, and knotted shoulders. However, after some recent negotiations at the gym with Shannon, my very persuasive trainer, I gave in and booked an appointment.

I couldn't pin point the exact reasons for my hesitation but as I walked into the massage therapist's office I was certain the experience would scar me for life. Laurie, the therapist, greeted me with a warm smile and seemed nice enough, yet I was still positive there was evil lurking behind her quiet and calm demeanor. After completing the standard questionnaire, pointing out my trouble spots, and unsuccessfully stalling with banter about it being my first massage, I had no choice but to strip off my clothes and lie vulnerable on the massage table. Things started out normal enough, a little oil, a little rubbing, nothing out of the ordinary and so I started to relax. Once the conversation turned to travel and environmentalism I was actually quite happily enjoying myself.

In the last moments, as I was lying on my back and almost falling asleep from the head rub, we started talking about East Indian culture and Ayurvedic message. And then suddenly a forgotten memory flashed through my mind and I realized this wasn't my first massage. It was so clear, the details of traveling in Sri Lanka and being taken to an Ayurvedic centre. Well, not really a centre, more like a hut where the treatment rooms were dark and damp. I remembered lying on a cold hard wooden table and some untrained local woman fiercely rubbed oil on me. It wasn't relaxing, it wasn't therapeutic, and it explained my deep rooted obstinance in booking this appointment. I revealed my sudden recollection to Laurie and we both had a good laugh. As I booked two more appointments I thanked her for a terrific session and for restoring my faith in massage therapy.

Mixed tapes

I have always had an extreme obsession with music. It is amazing how a good song can enhance a joyous occasion or take the edge off a painful one. I remember getting my first Walkman when I was 10 years old. The idea that I could take my favorite songs anywhere I went was so special to me. Unlike the compact portable music players we see nowadays, the original portable cassette players were the size of a 300 page paperback novel so it was akward lugging it everywhere clipped to my pants. But I didn't care that everyone mocked me for having this monstrosity permanently attached to me, I had music and I was happy.

Getting my first Walkman also fueled my passion for creating mixed tapes. It was an art form, putting together the right sequence of songs to accurately convey thoughts and feelings. All my tapes tell the story of my teenage years and this weekend, during a much needed house cleaning, I was forced with the difficult decision of whether or not to continue storing them. These tapes don't get played anymore, I don't even have a tape player, but they carry with them a lot of memories of my youth. I'm not sure what the rules are on storing items filled with valuable memories. But because space is limited, it's unreasonable for me to hoard the precious reminders of what's now history. So with a heavy heart, and, I'm embarrassed to admit, a few tears, I discarded my mixed tapes and said goodbye to yet another reminder that I existed before now.