If you have the everlasting-winter blues, this one's for you.

On Saturday I decided to take a little stroll through the ward in Guelph. I was ecstatic at the fact that it was warm enough for my bare hands to be out of their mittens for 15 minutes at a time. I took photos of houses with chipping paint and dead grass - and I was excited, even if it was because of the frigid wind in my hair and the dirty snow under my feet. After a few minutes I found a sign.

A man came up to me and asked what I was taking a photo of. I told him. He told me how he had put it up many years ago with environmental news and postings but had to stop because of vandalism. He seemed distraught about reliving the memory. So I nodded - mostly in silence. I complimented him on his choice of words and told him how much I liked it. He seemed thankful, but sad. 

And then he caught me off guard. He said “I wish people would think less of killing themselves”, and with that, turned to walk away without another word. In the time it took me to process what he had said, he was already at his front door. I wanted so much to say something, but words escaped me.

I found them 10 minutes later when I stumbled upon the resilience festival in downtown Guelph. This is what I saw.

A chalkboard full of wonderful things. The Simple Pleasures Project, to be exact. An idea thought up by Josh Martin, leukemia survivor and, evidently, experience enthusiast (you can see what he's all about here). We chatted briefly, I told him how great it was, and proudly added “Hugs and Cuddles” before I left (sunshine, taking my shoes off, DOGGIES more than once, and a picture of a unicorn were already on the board, so I decided to choose something different). It was uplifting to see. Something I wished the man I had encountered 10 minutes earlier could have seen. To put even the tiniest of smiles on his face.

So, on the hard days, just remember: When things get rough, there’s a chalkboard somewhere waiting to tell you what’s good.

There’s also (in no particular order) doggies, unicorns, sloths, photographs, snuggles, bananas, hammocks (note: not banana hammocks, but maybe. depending on who you are), heated blankets, walking barefoot, treetops, treehouses, campfires (CAMP), canoes, wide-open fields, lakes, sunsets, mountains, waterfalls, hikes, pets in costumes, really awful puns, friends who laugh at my awful puns, and friends who prevail over time, space and circumstance. Just to name a few.

What’s on your list? (Seriously, I want to know. Don’t be shy.)

There's also big windows and ivy!

An atmosphere I'm thankful for.

I’ve been lucky enough the past couple of years to be surrounded by musical people. Provides an atmosphere I wouldn’t get otherwise. Its continuing presence in this town (“musical” is at best and under-representation of Guelph and its art scene, to say the least) has given me an association that will make it difficult to go when I decide to leave it.

Lately, one of the only relatively “serious” lines I can recall from The Office (yes, the hilarious tv show) has been resonating with me lately... from the final season... “I wish there was a way to know you were in the good old days, before you’ve actually left them”. 

This makes me nostalgic, especially when summer comes around and I think of the old Georgian Bay stomping grounds. But. When times like this happen, or when I get lulled to sleep by a live acoustic “concert” in my house, or when I join and dance around and/or sing with zero cares (sometimes really loudly and sometimes really horribly)... it’s hard not to know I’m in the good times... before they've gotten old.

 

The best piece of advice I've ever gotten from a post-secondary institution. Literally.

This is the view from my yoga mat.

The message came to me one fateful day in the mail....

Okay. Fateful is a large stretch. But it did come to me in the mail, in the form of an acceptance letter. From a school, that, after half thought/half instinct, I realized may not do me the kind of good I’m looking for (and thereby keeping me from doing the kind of good I'm looking to do for other people).

So instead, I reaped the benefits, in the form of tearing out the most important message that struck me from the package.

There’s some kind of magic attached to a piece of advice that comes to you like this (quite literally, in this case), rather than one that you tell yourself every day because you know you should, and this one means more than the words that make it.

Some people call me the most indecisive person they’ve ever met. So, naturally, you’d think this particular sentence would stress me out. Instead, it keeps me grounded. Reminds me to look before I leap, but not to look too hard (unless maybe I’m holding a machine that makes photos). Reminds me of what I value. So on my wall it will stay, beside the blue sky and trees out my window.