Moving to America

I figured I would write this post because my friends and family have been naturally curious about my whole "visa thing" but understandably know very little about it. In the seven years I've been with Anthony, I've learned that people think they understand the immigration process, but more often than not, they really don't. I've also learned that some people think it's so complicated that I couldn't possibly know what I'm talking about. I'm happy to say that it's actually pretty straight-forward once you understand the steps involved and the ideas behind them.

My life, as of April 2017 (Image source)

For starters, nobody (except a US citizen) can just pick up and move to the USA. Being married to an American doesn't grant automatic residency or citizenship. Being married to an American doesn't even guarantee approval for a visa, as there are several factors that could lead to a denial.

The purpose of a visa is to allow you to present yourself at a port of entry and ask to be let in. It is not a guarantee you'll be let in.

So now that I have that out of way, here's a little bit about our story and a little bit about how fiancé(e) and spousal visas work, since we've been through both.

As you may know, Anthony and I began dating at the end of 2009. We knew very early on that we wanted me to move to Michigan, so we applied for a K-1 visa in June 2010. The K-1 visa is a fiancé(e) visa that allows the foreign partner to move to the USA faster than with a spousal visa (AKA a CR-1/IR-1 visa). Once the foreign fiancé(e) moves to the USA, they have 90 days to get married and file the second part of the paperwork (i.e. adjusting their status to that of a permanent resident). The foreign partner must stay in the USA for about three months to "adjust status" while the paperwork is processed. When that is complete, the immigrant will receive a permanent resident card, AKA green card.

The amount of time it takes to get a K-1 visa varies based on which processing centre receives the case and also how backlogged the processing centers are that month/year. I've heard of people getting a K-1 visa in three months. Had we gone ahead with our K-1 visa, it would have been ten months. As it turns out, we have a knack for getting stuck in backlogs.

The CR-1 visa takes a little longer because the status adjustment stuff I mentioned above is done before the visa is issued. The amount of time to get a CR-1 visa is about 9 months to a year, if all goes well. Some countries have a high green card fraud rate, which can delay the process. Canada is considered a low-fraud country so Canadian family members aren't scrutinized too much. There is no limit on visas for spouses of US citizens, so there is no waiting for a priority date like with other visas.

The K-1 and the CR-1 visas involve similar stages. They start with a petition to the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS). A petition is a fancy way of saying the US citizen sends a bunch of forms and a bunch of money asking if their family member can be considered for a visa. Once the petition has been approved by USCIS, the case goes on to the National Visa Center. With the CR-1 visa, this stage requires sending in more forms and more money. The NVC says on their website that once they receive your paperwork, it takes two to four weeks for it be reviewed. In our case, NVC was backlogged at the time so it took eight weeks.

Both visas (and all US visas as far as I know) require the applicant to undergo a medical examination prior to the interview by a physician approved by the US government. There are precious few of these physicians; five in all of Canada (three of which are in Toronto, fortunately for me, unfortunately for the rest of the country). The medical exam isn't covered by provincial healthcare, and it costs about $300CAD or so if you have all the required vaccinations. It also has to be a designated panel physician; you can't just hop across the border and have a US doctor sign the form.

Once the NVC reviews everything, the case goes onto the embassy or a consulate in the applicant's home country. In my case both times, that US consulate is in Montreal. People were really shocked when I told them that Montreal is the only US consulate in Canada that processes spousal visas. Some people even implied that I must have screwed up somehow, but that's really how it is.

So why does it seem like I've been taking forever to move? Well for starters, as I mentioned, we didn't go through with the K-1 visa after all. I decided I didn't want to quit my job even if I lived in the USA, so the only reasonable option was for me to get transferred to Windsor, so I could commute from Ann Arbor.

A transfer to Windsor wasn't an easy thing. I kept getting offered positions, only for the manager to turn around and rescind the request, because the funds weren't available to fill the position. It was as frustrating as it sounds. There was nothing on the horizon in Windsor when we finally got married in spring 2015. It was nerve-wracking getting married, not knowing if I would ever get transferred to Windsor. Commuting from Ann Arbor to Sarnia every day was out of the question. By December 2015, we decided we couldn't wait forever and sent in the CR-1 paperwork. As luck would have it, I found out at the beginning of January 2016 that I was finally transferring to Windsor. Funny how perfect the timing was after four years of waiting. It did throw a slight wrench in the plans because I needed to sign a lease for an apartment in Windsor starting in April, and the visa would be ready and then expire well before then.

Our petition was approved in April, which stays valid for a year, meaning I had up to a year to send the next set of paperwork to NVC. I kept my eye on processing times and we sat on the NVC paperwork until October, hoping to time the interview in Montreal with the end of my lease. At the very end of 2016, I found out my interview was scheduled for mid-February 2017. In January, I went for my medical in Toronto. Crazily enough, you're not even told if you pass as the results are in a sealed envelope you're forbidden from opening. I just had to assume no news was good news. Earlier this month, Anthony and I took a weekend trip to Montreal for my interview, where the visa was finally approved. The interview was probably the easiest part of the whole process.

The visa itself is good for six months after the medical exam so it gives me lots of time to get rid of things and prepare to move in April.

Contrary to what a lot of people think, getting a visa isn't the same as getting citizenship. I will need to live in the USA for three years before I can apply for citizenship, which I plan to do. Permanent residents who live in the USA for any other reason than marriage have to wait five years before naturalizing.

Me in 3 years

I've also had people tell me they know Canadians who married Americans and then just moved to the USA right away, no paperwork in hand. If they could do it, what am I doing wrong? I never know what to say, because you legally need a visa to move there. I don't know if there are a lot of Canadians lying to border guards, but it is illegal to enter the USA with the intention of immigration if you do not have a valid visa. It's also illegal to misrepresent yourself to a border patrol agent, for obvious reasons.

Still me 100%

Also, everybody wants to make a joke about how I'm moving to America at the worst possible time, with Trump as president and all. While I'm not thrilled about Trump and it definitely puts a damper on my excitement, it doesn't and it can't take away all my joy. At the risk of sounding cheesy, Trump can't take away the love between two people. The most important thing is that I finally get to live with my husband. We can finally live our lives together in a way that most couples take for granted. All Anthony and I have wanted since we met was to go through life together, and that includes good times and bad times. So all things considered, I am excited for this next phase of my life and hopefully I will get at least a few interesting blog posts about it. So stay tuned...

My 20s: 20 & 21

On November 21st, I officially became closer to 30 than to 29...the last foggy breath of my 20s is merely lingering in the air, about to be snuffed about the cold, harsh reality of my 30s. Okay, I really don't feel that dramatic about it. I actually like getting older. For the last couple years, I've even thrown the 30 card out like it's a source of pride.

This is around the time that women start to feel uncomfortable admitting their age, but I've never felt like I'll be one such woman. I suppose this is made easier by the fact nobody can ever accurately guess my age. I'm still getting carded for booze and lottery tickets on the regular. Yeah, lottery tickets. Apparently I look 17 or younger. Every time I get carded for a lottery ticket, I can't help but laugh as I dig my ID out of my wallet.

17
The thing is, even though it's kind of a compliment to look 17, I definitely don't miss being 17. I will never be one of those people who wistfully sighs when reminded of their teenage youth. High school wasn't the best time of my life, far from it. Sure my skin was smoother, my hair shinier, my triceps less jiggly, but I was nowhere near as content, confident, or forgiving as I am now. I was actually kind of an asshole back then.

My twenties have been interesting in so many unexpected ways (hence the name of my blog). I might only live 100kms away from where my 20s started, but everything has changed.

Because this is going to be long, I am splitting it into several entries.

20 (May 2006 - May 2007): The dawn of my 20s had me working at a call centre in London, Ontario. It was my first experience living away from home and being "on my own" (I was living with my ex). In 2005, I started working at a call centre doing inbound technical support for an American Internet service provider. I was good at my job, but dealing with angry people all day was extremely draining and upsetting. I don't know how people mentally compartmentalize having people scream obscenities at them all day, because I sure wasn't able to. 

20th birthday in Montreal

I had few friends, no hobbies, never cooked, rarely cleaned. I'd go months without doing laundry, days without showering. I was a mess, physically and mentally. Looking back, I was a textbook case of depression, but I didn't realize it. I just thought I was getting used to the grueling "real world." I thought all there was to life was working and dreading going to work because that was literally all I did with my time. I dreaded going to work so much that I often had such severe anxiety on my "Monday" (Saturday), I couldn't fathom leaving the apartment and I'd have to call in sick. I can remember lying in bed before work and my heart would pound so hard with anxiety that the headboard would tap the wall with every beat. I was completely consumed with hating my life, it was all I thought about. When the opportunity arose to move to Nunavut, I gathered my things and excitedly said goodbye to everything I was leaving behind in Ontario, including my depression. My ex and I got married in July and moved away 12 days later. If I'm being totally honest, I'm not sure I had complete faith in the marriage from the start, but I thought it was "good enough" at the time to get married and I thought that was the best anyone could ask.

Leaving London did wonders for my mental health. I got over my depression and fell in love with Rankin Inlet right away. I had been accepted into Fanshawe College but because I left Ontario instead, I decided to go to school in Rankin. I took Management Studies at the community college which ended up being a good way to meet people and learn about Inuit culture first-hand, something I will forever cherish. I finished up 20 by being offered a temporary position with the federal government.

A day or two before I turned 21
21 (2007-2008): I turned 21 while on a plane to Halifax for my first vacation out of the north. When I returned from vacation, I began the aforementioned job, which I've long considered the best thing to happen to me. My job duties fit my skills nicely, and my experience at the call centre made the new job feel like a dream come true (you mean, I can go to the bathroom for more than 5 minutes and not get in trouble?!) I was often left alone in the office which was terrifying at first. After just 6 months of working there, my boss joked that I ran the place. The job and the organization were (and are) a good fit for my personality, which is why I'm still doing the same thing 8 years later.

Happiness, June 2007

I had been involved with community theatre as a teenager and met many wonderful people there, but it wasn't until I started this job that I really felt like my surroundings allowed me to flourish. It sounds corny, but my coworkers were so cool. They were into fitness and being all-around good, decent people. I started being more health-conscious and looking at the world in a more positive light. I also finally felt like I fit in, which I had never experienced before. 

The second half of 21 was rough, and it's when things started to go downhill in the marriage. I think people thought I thought I was blameless, but I fully admit I was 50% of the problem.

Selfie, November 2007, I was as emo as I looked (but damn that was a great eyebrow wax)

For no fewer than about 50 reasons, I decided I needed to not be married. It was a very difficult decision to make; I don't know how people with kids, mortgages, etc., do it. It was hard enough being 21 and only married for 18 months. Someone I thought was my good friend completely betrayed me in the process of "supporting" the divorce. Suffice it to say, it became abundantly clear I was making the right choice to leave.

Fortunately my work pulled through for me and offered me a position in Iqaluit. A few months before turning 22, I moved to Iqaluit alone and had to start all over again making friends and starting a new job. Those first few months were hell. My boss in Rankin had told me, "the next little while of your life is going to be nothing short of a roller coaster." He doesn't know how accurate he was. I had to learn to rely on myself fully for entertainment, cooking, cleaning, and everything I had taken for granted. I had nobody to talk to about any of the stuff I was going through, and it's a wonder I didn't drive myself insane. 

Emptiness/loneliness/having a whole bed to myself, Iqaluit, April 2008
By the time I turned 22, I was starting to become more comfortable with the new normal.

To be continued...

NaBloPoMo Day 24: Driving Anxiety

Well, I'm sitting down to try and pump out a few entries and I really wish I had some wine and cookies or something I now have wine and Lindor chocolates. Yes, I wrote that sentence and then decided that I'm a grown woman and I need wine and chocolate, so I went out and got them.

Today the topic is about my driving anxiety. I'm actually a little uncomfortable writing about it as it's something I only recently acknowledged about myself. It's going to be a bit of a longer entry as I've half-assed some entries this month which I'm not happy about.

I mentioned it briefly yesterday, but I used to have nightmares about driving and getting into accidents. Either the brakes wouldn't work or I'd realize I was sitting in the backseat and no one was steering the car (okay there, brain). By the time I was 16, I wasn't interested in learning to drive. Considering my mom is a driving instructor, she wasn't too pleased with me. I was very involved in community theatre at the time and was always needing rides downtown and whatnot. I didn't really think about whether or not I would eventually learn to drive, I just sort of waited to see how I felt.

When I started dating my now-ex, he put the pressure on me to get my license. Right around my 18th birthday, I wrote the test to get a beginner's license. I still remember that I got only one question wrong; the hand signal for a right turn. My mom ripped into me over it and nagged me for ages, despite the fact it was the only question I got wrong and it's hardly relevant to everyday driving.

I did my driving lessons through the school my mom works for, although not with her. No way in hell. Driving around town during non-lessons with my mom was bad enough since we would use the school's car with the passenger side brake pedal. I was a mouthy teenager as it was and so let's just say that my mom got called a few choice words when I was learning to drive and she'd grab the wheel or slam on the brakes for no reason whatsoever. Teenagers and driving instructors do not belong in the same family!


I really enjoyed my driving lessons and I did well. For the G1 exit test (to drive on your own but with restrictions), I had to drive in heavy snowfall. For the G2 exit test (to get your full license), I had to drive in heavy rain. Both times the weather played into me getting one or two errors, but I still passed both with scores in the 90s. Fortunately my mom had lightened up by this time, and was actually mad on my behalf that they held me to such high standards despite the poor road conditions. Even my driving instructor was mad at the road test centre for giving me any errors because I was such a great driver. /humblebrag

Shortly after I got my full license, the anxiety set in. I had to drive to London for a show I was involved in, and all we had in those days were shitty Mapquest printouts. I hated driving in new places and when I inevitably got lost, I was bawling my eyes out, trying to find a road that was actually on the printout. I have since gotten a GPS which made a huge difference as far as my fear of being lost.

I moved to London later that year and don't recall having any problems, except that I hated driving in that city. I would borrow J's car on my days off to go shopping. It always ended up with me swearing a blue streak at other drivers (through closed windows). I still hate driving in London to this day.

My anxiety went away when I drove up north because let's be honest, 40kmh/25mph is driving fast up there. Also, driving from Apex to Federal Road (ie one end of town to the other) takes maybe 6 or 7 minutes.

When I moved back to Ontario, that's when I really started to have a problem. My anxiety doesn't bother me so much before I drive or while I'm driving; I never dread driving anywhere. It's after the fact. I know that my big weakness in life is ruminating intensely for days over non-incidents. Shortly after I moved back, I was in a parking lot and darted across a section of the lot, nowhere near an approaching driver. As I parked my car, some lady I must have startled slowed down and angrily mouth "FUCK YOU" at me from her car. Nothing like that ever happened to me up north, and it bothered me for weeks.

Any kind incident in my car wrecks me mentally for at least a day, if not weeks. I lie in bed at night and obsess over the fact I accidentally cut someone off, or came close to side swiping somebody. In the spring I was nearly in an accident that would have been mostly my fault, but not 100%. But for probably a month, I was so scared I was going to cause an accident. I go through these phases a few times a year where I am absolutely convinced I'm going to cause an accident.

Any time I make a dumb mistake while driving, I feel so intensely guilty that I can't shake it. It replays in my mind over and over and I have to swear to myself 7000 times it'll never happen again. I don't know if other people are like this, but to me it feels unhealthy. Logically I know that everybody makes mistakes sometimes and that it won't be the end of the world if I do cause an accident. Nobody is perfect and if I caused an accident, it doesn't necessarily make me a bad person. I don't drive drunk and I have tried to retain all my good habits from driving school. I am doing the best I can.

However, no logic could help when it came to the accident that Anthony and I witnessed in 2013. I don't think I've talked about it too much, but we were driving to Kincardine for a weekend. It was getting dark and out of nowhere, we saw a truck fly across the road ahead of us and end up in a yard. Long story short, we stopped to help, called 911 and discovered there were actually two vehicles. Both drivers were unconscious and neither survived. That was a first for me and I hope it's the last. I still don't like driving on rural roads at night, and I am brought to tears just by seeing smashed up cars as I drive by accidents now. It was a very sobering reminder about how dangerous driving can be.

Obviously, witnessing that accident didn't help my anxiety and if anything, it has become worse. Sometimes I lie in bed at night after a day of driving with no incidents, and I obsess over whether I was actually paying enough attention while driving. Nothing went wrong, but I could swear I could have done better.



A big part of why I hate driving is, of course, other drivers. I expect other drivers to use their turn signal, not hog the left lane, not roll through stops or turn into the wrong lane, but I've learned my expectations are way too high. People just plain suck at driving. Canadians best be glad I'm not the Prime Minister because holy moly would I ever change things when it comes to having a driver's license. Okay, driver licensing is actually managed by each province/territory but it is way too lax in my opinion. How I would change things could fill a whole other blog entry so we'll just leave it at the fact that some day I might just cut up my license with a pair of scissors and vow to take the bus everywhere.



I have no real conclusion for this post, because there is no denouement to my anxiety. I don't have a nice little bow to wrap it up in and present it to you like I'm somehow getting better, because I'm not.

I would be interested to hear if other people have issues with driving similar to mine, and how you manage it.

NaBloPoMo Day 23: Being Childfree (Part 2)

In October I solicited topic ideas for this month, and one of the suggestions was that I discuss being childfree. I did discuss it a few years ago (see this post), but I focused more on the origins of my "childfreedom" rather than my current feelings about it. I feel like there is room to finish my thoughts on it, and so this will likely be the last time I talk about it. When it comes to life choices, too much talk can come across as sounding secretly unsure and trying in vain to cover the insecurity. That's why this will be the last of my posts about it.

If you didn't read my first post, this is a brief recap: growing up, my parents seemed to resent being parents and acted like raising kids was a mistake and a burden. My mom told me a few times her life would have been way easier if we/I weren't/wasn't around. Their harsh sentiments combined with their friendships with happy childfree people made a huge impression on me, and I decided in early childhood that I did not want to have children.
I do think it's entirely possible to overcome crappy parenting and I think my siblings and I are good evidence of that fact. We all have decent jobs, no criminal record, we vote, and we are otherwise productive members of society. My brother and his wife just recently had a baby which is awesome. I am so happy to see our family grow and change, since the dynamic has been the same for 24+ years.

I would be lying if I said that holding my niece for the first time didn't make my brain and ovaries go crazy for about a week, but I came out of the new baby fog back to the same old stance: motherhood is not for me.

For starters, I am an absolute wreck after just one bad night of sleep. Anthony and I recently went to Minneapolis for the weekend and despite the fact it wasn't an overly exhausting trip, I still ended up sleeping through my alarm for two hours on Monday morning.

After a few days to a week of bad sleep, I start to experience visual and auditory hallucinations at nighttime. For example, when I was an assistant stage manager for a musical in 2011, I was a little stressed out during "hell week" (the week before the show opens). Hell week involves several exhausting late nights in a row, and by the end of it, I was waking up in the middle night, hallucinating that I was backstage. It continued during the run of the show, with me waking up in the middle of the night and wandering around my room half-asleep, thinking I was backstage. I ended up having to take an afternoon off work to go home and catch up on sleep, as I was a zombie at work. This is just one example of my hallucinations, mind you.

I think about what having a child would be like: possible sleep deprivation for months, if not years on end. Would I even wake up for baby's cries? Would I become so zombie-like that I would potentially do something dangerous while sleep walking? I can't handle even one night of less than 7 hours of sleep. What about months? What about years? And even if I don't do something dangerous while sleepwalking, am I going to be in a compromised state of mind? Functioning on so little sleep, can I still be a good wife, friend, employee?



Some people seem to think that not having children is selfish, like apparently children are a debt you owe to society or something. My parents are well aware of my desire to not be a parent and they don't care. My mom has a granddaughter now and god willing, Anthony's mom will become a grandma in January, so I can wipe my hands clean of any lingering guilt I might have had about not giving them a grandchild. As far as the selfish remark goes, I don't understand how not having a child is selfish, but having a child isn't.  In many instances, children are brought into the world for purely selfish reasons, so I hope the whole "childfree people are selfish" thing dies a quick death.


I do admit that another large part of my desire to remain childfree is that I want to live my life in such a way where I really only need to worry about myself and Anthony. I want to be able to sleep in whenever I want, take naps whenever I want, disappear in a hot bath for hours on end, take an impulsive road trip, go to the bar with friends without needing to find a babysitter. Parents like to tell me that these things are so worth it or that it's different when it's your child, and I'm sure that's true. But looking at it from my perspective, I don't think I'd enjoy parenthood enough to sacrifice so much. I try to imagine a mini me smiling at me for the first time or saying something to me like, "You're my best friend, Mom!", and I feel zero desire to make that a reality. Imagining myself as a parent does not cause any emotions to bubble up in me other than indifference.

Of course, my subconscious loves to play the "imagine Jaime as a parent" game. I often dream about being a parent and I am always lousy at it. I mentioned it in my first post, but I often dream that I have a child and I forget about it for days on end. Someone will ask how my baby is doing and I'll be like, "Oh shit, I left that thing in the closet last week. I should probably go check on it, shouldn't I?" Then I spend the rest of the dream freaking out that I've probably just murdered my own offspring. I wake up sweating from those dreams.


Before I got my driver's license, I frequently dreamt about getting into car accidents. It was one of the reasons I waited until I was 18 to get my beginner's license. I look at the fact I have anxiety about driving and that driving constantly pisses me off, and I wonder if the connection between my parenting nightmares would be the same as my driving nightmares and how much I hate driving.

I think by far the biggest reason I choose not to have children is that I just feel no desire to raise a human being. I like taking care of things/people, but I don't want it to be a full-time job for the rest of my life. I am excited to be present for my niece's and future nephew's journey through life, and I am elated at the idea that I might get to be a part of their development, but I have no desire to be a primary caretaker. I don't feel any need whatsoever to help shape a human being into a happy member of society using my love and guidance. I understand that appeal to others, but there is nothing there for me. As I mentioned above, I imagine myself in various parenting situations (both the happy and the grueling) and I feel nothing. I used to feel disgust and repulsion, but now I just feel content with the idea that I don't need to be a parent. The older I get, the more content with it I feel...and that's all I can really say!

NaBloPoMo Day 18: A Day in the Life

Sorry for being a day late again, but it's kind of hard to blog about a day in my life when the day isn't over! And sorrynotsorry, I wasn't about to stay up past midnight just to post it.

7:20AM: My alarm goes off (for the second time) and I get out of bed. I slept in a little bit today because I had been in such a deep sleep.

I try to do as little as possible before work so I can sleep as long as possible. Generally I do the bare minimum to make myself look presentable, then grab some breakfast to take with me to work (usually packaged cheese and a hard boiled egg, but this week I've been taking a slice of the banana bread I made).

Two things I always do in the morning:

Leah and I have a ritual where she comes into the bathroom while I get ready and she meows at me until I give her a 2-minute full body scratch. Afterwards, she leaves and leisurely rolls around on the carpet, temporarily satisfied with life.

I also always, always make the bed.

7:50AM: Leave for work. Running a few minutes behind today since I slept in.

This is my car for the day, a 2011 Ford Fiesta. Admittedly, it's my car every day but saying it's "for the day" makes it sound like I have multiple cars or am otherwise rich and important.

Today is unseasonably warm and I'm excited about a run later.

The last few days I've only been listening to Pete Yorn's Musicforthemorningafter album while I drive.

8:00AM: I arrive at work. Yup, I have a short commute!

8:00:01AM: The first order of business is to brew a sweet, sweet coffee.

Today's coffee, which I bought from Walmart (ugh) last night. I've never had it before but it's not bad.

Now I can take over the world.

The second order of business is to rip a page from my someecards daily calendar. Today's joke is eerily timely considering the latest about Charlie Sheen being HIV positive.

Also, it's only 9709 more days until I'm eligible to retire. It's flying by, I tells ya!

9ish AM: Because I am a coffee fiend, my coworker and I grab a coffee from Blackwater Cafe, a long time favourite cafe of mine which recently reopened.

Noonish: I leave for lunch. Since I live so close to work, I go home every day. Today I made a grilled cheese sandwich with the whole wheat bread I made last night, which unfortunately didn't rise very much. The sandwich turns out okay but I still can't chew crusts, womp womp.

I work on this entry a bit and then lie down in my bed to surf the Internet on my iPad. I love my relaxing lunches.

Another lunch time ritual: vitamins!

1-4PM: Back to work. I'm alone most of the afternoon which is always nice, but it can be hard to stay awake when it's so quiet. I don't think I could ever work from home.



4:10PM: Arrive home. The weather forecast can't seem to tell me with any certainty when or how hard it's going to rain, so I lie in bed for a little while with my electric blanket and iPad, trying to decide what to do with myself.

6:30PM: I awake from a nap, oops.

7PM: It's now raining steadily and since I don't want to seem like the most boring person on the planet when people read this, I decide to do a workout in my room. This the space I have to work with:

Basically I would have zero issues staying in shape if I went to prison, considering I have similar floor space.

And this is my plan for the night:

Time to work them gams. I go through this workout twice.

It's a workout from Runners' World magazine plus some other stuff I added in. I said the next time I trained for a long race that I would incorporate strength training. This is my first time doing this workout and I like it, but I'm sore the next day!

No workout is complete without some text messages to my sister, whining about wanting junk food.

8ish PM?: No dinner tonight, just a snack. I have days where I don't get hungry in the evening (besides the aforementioned junk food cravings) so I don't bother making myself anything more than a snack. I have other days where I'm insatiably hungry in the evening so don't worry, I do eat.


9:00ish PM: After surfin' the 'net for awhile, I take a hot bath with a glass of Natural Calm, a magnesium drink I've been drinking every night.


10:20PM: Anthony calls for our usual nightly chat. When we first started dating, we would talk on the phone three times a day, but we have since dwindled down to once a night, 3-5 times a week, haha. A lot of it is, "How was your day?" "Same old."

This wasn't last night, but I am talking to Anthony in this photo so I figured I'd include it.

10:55PM: In bed with my iPad. When I'm at home in Sarnia, I always, always watch ASMR videos on YouTube before bed, as they are super relaxing and basically knock me out. Don't know what I'm talking about? Here's an article about it.

All ready for bed.

11:30PM: Lights out!

November 18th was one of the more boring days from my life, as you can probably tell. I do so much that when I have a day with no plans, I like to just relax.

I hope you enjoyed this boring version of a day in my life!

NaBloPoMo Day 12: Nunavut

Today the topic I have chosen is Nunavut, and I'm not really sure what I thought I'd write about. I've been wondering what to say about it. Since I've moved back, people often say to me, "Wow, you lived in Nunavut? What was THAT like?" and I always want to say, "You want me to summarize 4 years of my life in one sentence?" It's an impossible question, so I usually just smile and say, "Life changing."

I wasn't sure if I should make this a top ten list with something like "top ten life lessons from the north" or "top ten Nunavut memories." But I decided, I already have the topic. "Nunavut, what was that like?" Talking about it does involve me talking about my ex which some may find tacky of me now that I'm remarried, but I'd like to think there is a respectful way to cover the topic.

In spring 2006, I was dating my now ex-husband, J. We were living in London, ON and both of us were unhappy with our lives there. We disliked our jobs and didn't have any hobbies or friends; we were just going through the motions. I was applying to go to college and was accepted into the Computer Systems Technology program at Fanshawe College. Meanwhile, J started applying to interesting jobs around the country. I will never forget our initial discussions about Nunavut; I was completely repulsed by the idea. As his application progress for a position in Rankin Inlet moved along in a promising way, I warmed up the idea and was absolutely pumped when they offered him the job.

Me in an igloo, April 2010
We'd been together 2.5 years at that point and felt like we were in it for the long haul, so we decided to get married before we moved, which we did, and it was a small but fun wedding.

After frantically researching the best we could about how to prepare ourselves, we moved up on August 1st, 2006. I spent August exploring town and falling in love with the north. In September I started in the Management Studies at Nunavut Arctic College, which was a fun way to spend the next 6 months as I got to meet people and make friends. One of my instructors had actually been an instructor at Fanshawe and had lived a few blocks from us in London.

I don't want to discuss specifics, but things started to get difficult in early 2007; however, we were enjoying ourselves nevertheless. By the time school was over in April, we had made some friends and I was offered a temporary position with the federal government. That summer was some of the most fun I've ever had. Saturday nights at the Legion, board game nights with friends, weekend nights at our friend's cabin, quad rides out on the land. It was awesome. I was covered in mosquito bites, but it was awesome.

Things started to go more downhill in August. For still unknown reasons, I started to form massive blisters on the palms of my hands and fingers. They were extremely painful and spread quickly. The doctors and nurses couldn't figure out what was wrong, and they were throwing pills and creams at me like nobody's business. It was very unsettling as the problem got worse, and the doctors only got more confused. It was so bad that my hands were literally immobile. I couldn't unzip my fly, open doors, wash my hair, use utensils, etc. I was on a steady dose of Tylenol 3 which wasn't helping. Eventually I was diagnosed with dyshidrotic eczema and to this day, I never seen photos of a case as bad as mine. The photos on the Internet are laughably minor compared to what I went through. Fortunately it has never come back, which makes the whole thing all the more baffling.

Cape Dorset, April 2009
However, as that nightmarish episode of my life was improving by September, there was more drama in our lives. It really isn't my place to talk about it on this blog, but suffice it to say, it involved J more than it involved me, although it sent me into a tailspin of stress and depression. We were both medicating ourselves with alcohol which obviously doesn't work.

By the new year, things had only gotten worse, and our relationship was massively suffering. I looked at my life at the time; I was 21 and felt I was too young to be going through what I was dealing with, so I made the decision to walk away from the marriage and from Rankin Inlet. I could have handled the situation better, but life doesn't hand you a manual about how to navigate divorce, especially as a 21 year old.

I was offered another contract in Iqaluit so I moved there in March 2008. I'd never lived alone before and found the adjustment difficult, but also liberating. By summer I was emerging from my depression and found happiness in my life in Iqaluit. I made friends, was going to the gym, loved my job...things were great. My best friend Tori even came to visit me in December 2008 which was one of the highlights of my time in the north. In early 2009, I was given a permanent position with the government and was finally able to move into my own apartment. I had either been living in a staff house, house sitting, or living with a coworker for that first year. Moving into my own apartment was amazing, and I really settled into life.

Repulse Bay, November 2009
2009 was a great year. I feel like that's when I really started to come out of my shell and make friends. However, Iqaluit is a small place and the more time I spent out of the house, the more people started gossiping about me, which was awful. Unsurprisingly, the gossip made my life seem a lot more interesting than it actually was. I'd spend a Saturday night at home alone and then hear on Monday about how wild I had been at a party. Yup, if the "party" was my couch and "wild" was me falling asleep at 9pm.

By fall 2009, I started to look at ways to move on from Iqaluit. I began the process of applying to become a police officer with the RCMP and was optimistic and excited about it. That December, I began talking to Anthony online, not thinking much about it. I went home for Christmas and we met up with zero intentions of dating, and yeah. Here we are 6 years later, married.

By the end of my trip home that December, I knew I had to cancel my application process for the RCMP and pursue things with Anthony. I've gotten slack about it over the years from various people but I have no regrets. I flew Anthony up in April and July 2010, the latter trip was to help me finish packing to move. I left on July 21st, 2010 with mixed emotions.

April 2010
The adjustment back to life here was difficult, but I refused to acknowledge it at the time. I had been so used to the idea that I was doing something unique with my life, and then suddenly I was back in plain old southwestern Ontario, unemployed, living with my dad. I also started suffering from anxiety about driving, which is still an ongoing issue for me.

It has now been more than 5 years since I left. At this point, I don't think I would ever move back. I enjoyed my time there and learned so much about life, but it often felt like living in a fishbowl. I enjoy my anonymity here, especially now that nobody recognizes me post-weight loss and jaw surgeries. I enjoy Chipotle down here and being able to go on a weekend road trips. Anthony and I have had so many adventures, and I am looking forward to moving stateside and starting a new life there.

Sometimes I try to think about what my life would be like had I not moved to Nunavut, but it bothers me to think about it. I feel like I "grew up" there for all intents and purposes, and it has made me into the person I am now. I feel like I appreciate the small things in life, like a warm breeze or a mailbox full of Amazon shipments. :-) I am grateful for the people who stand by me in hard times, and for 24 hour grocery stores. I made some lifelong friends there and have so many cherished memories, there's no way I would have been able to fit them into a top ten list.

NaBloPoMo Day 6: Why I Quit Reddit

Yup, I'm a day late (and probably a dollar short). Yesterday turned into an unexpectedly busy day. I left work at 4pm and didn't get home until 11:30pm at which point I was too tired to write this post. Also, I knew I'd be waking up at 6:30am this morning (to watch this), and I wasn't about to waste precious sleep time!

Yesterday's topic is why I decided to quit Reddit.



I imagine most people know what Reddit is, but if not, it's a massive website of user submitted content. The website is broken down into communities called subreddits, which can cover any topic imaginable. According to one website, there are over 853,000 subreddits (9330 of which are active), and 36 million user accounts.

By far the biggest reason I decided to quit Reddit was because of how much time I wasted on it. I signed up for Reddit in June 2011 and spent at least an hour on it every day, but sometimes upwards 4-6 hours. It's a complete time suck and I'd long been resenting myself for spending so much time on it, yet I felt unable to break away. Starting around the beginning of the year, I decided to start closing my laptop when I felt bored by the Internet, instead of just refreshing Reddit for new content.

Because of how much time I spent looking at Reddit, I was constantly upgrading the data package on my phone. I started with 500MB a few years ago and I now have a 5GB plan. I was basically paying to browse Reddit while not at home. I knew I needed to quit when a few months ago, mid-month, I got a notice that I'd used 75% of my data for the month. And yes, I use wifi at home. Obviously, I was addicted.

The other big reason I quit was because I got tired of reading people's stupid opinions. The comment threads are a big part of Reddit and it is not uncommon to see threads with 10,000+ comments. As for the demographics of Reddit, American males aged 18-29 comprise the largest group of users. It is a very male atmosphere and it started to really irritate me after awhile. Initially I found it interesting to be exposed to the male psyche in a way I'd never before experienced, but after 4 years of it, I needed a break. There is so much rationalized misogyny, petty arguments between users, misinformation, and bigoted, homophobic, and transphobic bullshit, I could stands no more. I would read a dumb comment by somebody about something and I would be annoyed all day that somebody so idiotic could actually exist in the same world as me.



I even started to feel confused about the world and current events. It was hard to have any opinion when I was exposed to so much noise. It's good to re-evaluate your perceptions every now and then, but I felt like my own perceptions were being crowded out by the perceptions of the average American 18-29 year old male. It was making me unhappy and dissatisfied with the world.

Lastly, because I'd used the same user account the entire time, I started to feel concerned about my privacy. If someone wanted to, they could piece together what I look like, where I live, where I work, what my name is, and find me on Facebook. In this day and age, that is way too much information to be floating around. Before quitting, I deleted all my comments that hadn't yet archived. It took hours but I felt a sense of relief when it was all gone.

At the end of September, after finally going through all my Reddit bookmarks and deleting all my content, I deleted my Reddit bookmark, the Reddit app, logged out, and never went back. I decided cold turkey would be the best.

So what is life like post-Reddit? I can say that I am happier. I spend less time on the computer and my phone. I spend more time cooking, baking, and sewing. I don't feel frustrated about stupid crap I read and overall, I feel like I have more space in my brain for my own thoughts.

I thought I would miss Reddit and feel lost without it, but I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to just walk away. I still think about Reddit every now and then, but as the weeks go by, I think about it less and less.

Both Anthony and my sister literally gasped when I told them I'd quit Reddit. I'm not sure what specifically was shocking to them; that I could exist without Reddit, or that anyone would want to. I feel a little like Theodore Twombly at the end of Her, when he finally gets to experience the world on his own, without his OS. The sun is rising and finally I'm not too busy staring at my phone to enjoy it.

NaBloPoMo Day 2: Dieting/healthy eating

Today is the 2nd day of NaBloPoMo and today I'm talking about dieting and healthy eating. Specifically, my journey with it.

Like a lot of people, eating healthily is not something that necessarily comes naturally to me. I was a picky eater growing up. We ate a limited range of food in our house which contributed to the problem. For example, I never had mayo until I was in high school. I don't think I ever ate a salad until I was older (12? 13? 14?). We tended to eat the same things all the time, and a large portion of what we ate was breaded and/or frozen. We also always, always had junk food and pop. It was always a regular part of my diet.

Me and the KFC Double Down: a match made in heart attack heaven
I stayed more or less thin through high school but when I moved out on my own at 19, I quickly gained about 10lbs. From there my weight rose each year. I didn't cook much in my younger days, I preferred the same stuff I ate growing up: frozen dinners, chicken nuggets, and fast food. I always thought eating healthy was for losers. I figured I was going to die anyway, might as well enjoy myself while I can. For awhile, I even sneered at runners outside, although I think part of that was I was jealous I couldn't run, too.

Fortunately I have a decent metabolism and never got too overweight, although I do think slow weight gain made it harder to care about my weight slowly increasing.

I'm not sure what made me come to my senses in 2009. That summer is when I started working out consistently. I think when I saw myself start to lose weight, I wanted to help it along by eating better as well. By that time, I knew several people who lived healthy lifestyles and I had come around and realized they weren't losers, they enjoyed being healthy and they were all the happier because of it.

In 2010 when I moved home to Ontario, I was down about 20lbs from the year before, but I gained it all back and then some because I had access to fast food. Not to mention, Anthony and I would go out to eat all the time.

In 2013, we were both hating how we looked felt and looked in photos and started eating low carb. We both saw success with it, and I even had to go out and buy all new clothes.

Happy ending though, right? Not really so. I've been finding that the effort to eat well makes it hard to think about anything else. I end up becoming obsessed with food and feeling like I'm in a constant state of deprivation. I feel consumed by food (instead of the other way around). I would have several days in a row of eating perfectly, but then I would end up binging on food all day long and feeling intensely guilty the next day. I'm smart enough to know that all of that is very mentally unhealthy. I also realize that most of my motivation to eat well is for my physical appearance, but that shouldn't be the main reason I eat well.

I'm not really sure why I struggle so much, but I've found it difficult to balance between eating in a way that doesn't cause me to gain weight and eating so well that I'm a mental wreck. I try to tell myself that instead of hard restrictions like, "20g of carbs or less per day," my goal should be things like, "When given options, make the healthier choice."

I don't think I'm there yet, but I'm working on it. I definitely can't and don't want to eat the way I used to. Crappy food makes me feel sick and I love the way I feel when I'm eating well, but I still have a mega sweet tooth. I do think part of my problem is that I have a mental image in my head of how my body should look, even though it would likely be difficult to achieve and maintain. I don't think I've come to fully accept the fact that the compromise of looking "ideal" isn't worth all the pain and suffering. I think I need to find a place of "good enough." Maybe that's a pathetic, defeatist way of handling my problem, if it even is a problem. Maybe society created this problem for me. I don't know, and that's really the best I can say before I drone on too long and miss NaBloPoMo Day 3.

Gel Pen Reflections

When we were teens exchanging greeting cards, my BFF Tori and I had a sacred tradition. We would gather all of our gel pens and write dozens of little notes on the card as tiny as possible. We would fill the entire card so there was literally no space left to write anything else. It was a great tradition that we have since gotten a little lazy with.



Last week I found a pack of hard copy Some E-cards and the one on the front perfectly described my lifelong friendship with Tori. So I gathered up my now pathetic stash of coloured pens (blue, black, and red) and wrote as tiny as possible (which, by the way, is difficult after years of relying on keyboards).

Maybe it's the beer talking, Tori, but you've got a butt that won't quit (no homo).
In the card, I posed the question to Tori, "what would your younger self think of you now?" After receiving the card, Tori told me she hadn't ever really thought about it, but she supposed she'd be confused by her current haircut and job, but that she'd probably admire her apartment and cat (which I helped her obtain by pretending to be her mom...it's a good story). Tori posed the same question back to me and I decided I'd make a blog entry out it, mostly because I haven't written an introspective entry lately.

Maybe because I'm overly reflective, I often think about what my younger self would think of me now.

As a kid, I think I definitely had some weird ideas about myself. I was fascinated by the idea of having a "real name," IE having a different name on your birth certificate than what you go by. I hadn't seen my birth certificate as a kid, so I didn't know it said plain old "Jaime" on it. I remember always bragging to my friends that my real name was something other than Jaime. For example, I learned that my mom had watched The Bionic Woman in the 70s and decided she liked the name Jaime for a girl. I took this to mean I was named after The Bionic Woman, and this was very exciting to me. I liked the idea of being named after someone; it seemed special and important. She told me the actress who played Jaime was named Lindsay. Thus, I surmised that my REAL NAME must be Lindsay, and I can remember telling a skeptical friend about it.

As I got a bit older and was being teased relentlessly at school, I took much of it to heart. I thought I was smart and funny, but I also thought I was ugly, undesirable to boys, and destined to be a geek forever.

Seriously, did I mention I was a geek?
I actually remember thinking my life goal should be to find a man who would marry me, because I felt like I was going to really have to work to find anyone who would actually like me. Now, looking back, I feel like there is a giant chasm between how I envisioned my future self and who I am now.

As far as boys are concerned, I haven't really spent much time single or at the least, not casually dating. Also, as you may be aware, I was married briefly in my early 20s. So I guess I had to come up with a new life goal.

Younger Jaime would probably be impressed that 2014 Jaime is in decent shape, plays sports, and exercises regularly. I've never been naturally talented in any sport, but I do enjoy the sports I play now (curling, soccer, hockey) and I love running. I always wanted to be a runner so I think Young Jaime would be excited about that.

Younger Jaime would definitely not be impressed at my lack of a diploma or a degree (I do have a certificate); however, Younger Jaime would think it's insane that I chose moving to Nunavut over going to college. Young Jaime would have been ecstatic that not only did I get to see Hudson Bay, I actually lived on it for 2 years.

Younger Jaime would probably also refuse to believe that I now work in a male dominated industry and fit in well with my coworkers. Younger Jaime would probably wonder how the hell I got into law enforcement.

I think my younger self would also be impressed that I've managed to style my wavy, unwieldy hair into something that looks semi-decent, and that Future Jaime dresses so much better.

Truthfully, Younger Jaime would probably not be impressed that I've been living with my dad for 4 years, and she would think it's crazy that I'm engaged to an American and plan to move stateside some day. I think Young Jaime would think Anthony is out of her league, although truthfully, 2014 Jaime still thinks that sometimes (2009 Jaime thought she had just another unrequited crush).

All in all, I do think Younger Jaime would be impressed and surprised and sometimes I fantasize about going back in time and telling my younger self all of this. Of course, that would create some trippy mind fuck and would probably mess everything up. But still.

Jaime and Tori: 2065?
Hopefully this long entry of self-reflection was at least somewhat interesting. If you've just woken up after falling asleep reading it, I'll take a coffee and some French toast, please!

Also, I think this entry perfectly fits into the title of my blog and the whole theme of your life turning into something unexpected, which I think is very true of my life. Kinda cool, huh! Look at me, coming up with these relevant entries, 4 years in...

Weighty Matters

Our weight is a pretty sensitive thing, isn't it? I had 16 years of sweet ignorance before the lifelong, society-induced battle caught up with me.

I have two siblings and fortunately for them, they inherited my dad's "eat anything, never gain weight" metabolism. I was not so lucky, as I inherited my mom's "look at cake, gain weight" metabolism.

When I was a kid, you would have assumed I was going to end up like my siblings. I was tall and slender, with skinny arms and legs. Then the big P hit: puberty. Still, I really didn't think about my weight. I remember being proud every time I stepped on the scale and the number had gone up. At the CNE one year, I played a Guess Your Weight? game thing. I think the guesser thought I was 100lbs but I was actually 114, and I was absurdly proud that I was heavier than I looked.

Me at 14, terrible at accessorizing
In high school, I started gaining about 5+ pounds a year. I still thought I looked pretty good, though. I'd never cared about my weight before.
The year I was 16, I remember having a conversation with one of my friends. I can't remember what we were talking about, but I remember she told me I had "a little extra to pinch" or something like that. I'd never, ever thought of myself as fat before and suddenly, someone was telling me I was, kind of. At the time I was probably 125-130lbs (I'm 5'5½"), so obviously not even "kind of" fat, but I didn't see that at the time. All I saw was hips, thighs, stomach. I started internally freaking out. No longer did I pass over myself in the mirror when dressing, I started scrutinizing everything and deciding I hated my entire midsection, mainly my hips. Before writing this, I went through my journal at that time of my life. I wrote long tangents about how much I hated my body.
That summer, I started an extreme regimen to get skinny. I tried to eat as little as possible, and bike as far as possible every day. I wrote down everything I ate and felt proud when my calories reached only a few hundred that day. I would bike 2+ hours a day as fast as I could handle. A very slippery slope, and I knew it. I must have gotten distracted or bored with it, fortunately, because that was my only foray into disordered eating and exercising. Interestingly, looking at my journal during this time, I talk frequently about how I felt close to having a nervous breakdown. Our family was having huge, loud, mean blow-out fights nearly everyday. My family was always threatening to send me away to a group home. I hated my mom and my brother, and screamed at them constantly. I hated everything going on around me. I will admit, I was a difficult teenager. I never realized until tonight that the disordered weight obsession mirrored dysfunctional family fights (my parents separated a year later, BTW). How I never developed a full-fledged mental illness escapes me, although as a teenager I always felt I wasn't normal. I think my frequent volunteering at the community theatre and my determination to move out fought off what could have been a lot worse for me.
Me, on the far right, at 16. Not a great photo but the only one I can find from when I was 16.

At some point later on when I became a "woman," I realized I needed to learn to love my body, because somebody said so. I don't think I've ever achieved this. I don't think I know how, I don't know if I'm capable of it. I don't even know if I agree it's necessary. I know I feel proud of myself when I lift weights, but love? That's a strong word. I don't hate my body anymore, I guess I just feel ambivalent towards it. I know I love cake, and my feelings about my body don't even come close to how I feel about cake.

In the 12 years since I was 16, my weight has fluctuated about 20lbs up and down. I get serious about being healthy, but then cake. In the past 5 months, I have learned that the way I naturally want to eat leads to weight gain, and it's a long road trying to change that.
Today I stand 123lbs, less than what I weighed at 16, and I do not love my body. In fact, its continued flabbiness and my continued dissatisfaction over it bother me deeply when I look in the mirror. I still hate my hips. Honestly, I thought I would look better at 123lbs. This is a number that 5 short months ago, I would have been fucking ECSTATIC about seeing on the scale. And now that it's here? Meh. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy I'm here, but a switch didn't flip inside me where suddenly I loved my body. I think that's a very popular misconception with weight loss. It's not a magic wand that fixes all your problems. You just become a skinnier you with the same problems. That said, I don't think I have "problems" per se, just a continued dissatisfaction with how I look.

This year, one of my new year's resolutions is to start lifting weights again. It's amazing what feeling physically strong can do for your self-confidence and not to mention, for carrying in the groceries. The weight lifting needs to wait until I have less pain in my jaw, though. In the meantime, I'm going to try and think of something positive about myself whenever I catch myself staring disappointedly in the mirror. Maybe I might even learn to like my body more, I don't know. All I know is I need to do something or I will end up gaining all the weight back and learning nothing.
Anyway, I don't think I even really touched on what I meant to talk about when starting this entry. I meant it to be less about me and more about people in general, but alas, I'm not very good at talking about people in general. I hope this doesn't come off sounding like I'm still 16 years old, and I especially hope you don't think I'm pushing some kind of "omg u gotta love urself!! real women have curves!" agenda, because I'm not. This is simply a history of me and my weight. And before you harass me in the comments, no, I don't think I'm fat. I've actually never thought I was fat, just flabbier than desired.
Me as a toddler, picking my nose and sucking my thumb: exactly zero fucks given.

On Not Wanting Kids

Ever since I was a little kid myself, I've known I don't want to have kids. Not being the norm in our society, I'm often met with resistance to this idea. How could I possibly not feel that maternal instinct? Don't I know it's different when they're my own? How can I not want to leave a legacy after I'm gone?


Courtesy of Anne Taintor

I've never really sat down and discussed my feelings from start to finish, so here goes.

The first time I can remember not wanting kids was winter 1995 (if it matters, I was 9). I received a beautiful doll for Christmas. It was from a line called Baby So Beautiful and I still remember the commercial, with the famous Joe Cocker song, "You Are So Beautiful." Strangely enough given my no-kids personality, I loved playing with dolls. I loved taking care of things and pretending my dolls really were my kids. My grandpa had made a lovely wooden doll crib for me and I happily tucked in "Karina" (what I named the doll) every night and took her out every morning. I loved that freakin' doll. I even had play food that I would pretend to spoon feed her. However, I distinctly remember thinking to myself at least once, "No way I'd want a real baby." I knew even then that babies were a huge responsibility and that I couldn't just shove a baby in a closet and ignore it for as long as I felt like it.

How could I possibly have felt that way at age 9, you wonder? The jury is still out on the whole nature vs. nurture thing when it comes to our personalities, but I'm starting to think the nurture part of my personality plays a bigger role than I originally assumed. It occurred to me earlier this year that my lack of interest in being a mother is probably directly linked to how frequently my parents bitched about being parents. I can't even tell you how many times my mom told me (albeit when I was being a brat) that she wished she'd never had me, she'd wish she'd never had kids, we're such a headache, she'd be so much happier without us. She probably doesn't remember saying such horrid things, but it was imprinted on me like a brandishing iron: having kids makes people unhappy.

Aww, poor Jaime, you must be thinking. You can still change your mind! Don't let your parents' thoughtless words change your mind on something so wonderful! Sure, maybe I could have, if this wasn't the narrative I was hearing my entire childhood. I never really even stood a chance at wanting kids. When I was 12 or 13, my parents each had a friend without kids. The one friend was (and is) unmarried, lives in an expensive part of Canada, takes frequent expensive vacations, and has a bunch of cats. The other friend was happily married, owned a Mercedes convertible, moved from expensive house to expensive house in Sarnia, and had a bunch of cats. I had more interaction with the latter friend and I've long considered him to be one of the strongest influences in my decision not to have kids. I saw his cushy life directly as a result of not having kids. I saw, and I liked. I liked a lot.

So now let's back up and look at the situation. As a kid, I kept hearing about what a pain in the ass kids were. Then I meet adults without kids who live seemingly glamorous, happy lives. Duh, right? 1 + 1 = 2. People with kids: unhappy. People without kids: rich and happy. Impressionable, indeed I was, and can you really blame me for coming to the conclusion that having kids is a bad idea?

Once I realized these driving factors in my choice not to have kids, I considerably relaxed about the whole thing. I have the tendency to over-analyze my personality and the choices I make in life. Whether to have kids has always been at the front of my mind for no other reason than to constantly reassess if I still feel the same. I would hate to get to my late 30s, give it some thought for the first time in a decade, and realize, Hey, maybe I do want kids? Oops, too late. It's something I give constant thought to, but admittedly, the older I get, the less I want kids. Most women my age would say that seeing their friends have kids plants the envy seed in them. For me, it's the opposite feeling. Every time a friend of mine has kids, I almost feel sick. When I inevitably see their first photos of them with the baby, it's like they're a whole different person. It freaks me out. I know it sounds weird or crazy, but the idea that you can never go back after having a baby scares the hell out of me. Despite the fact I have numerous tattoos, making the permanent decision to have a kid makes me feel queasy.

And then of course, people want to argue with me about it. If I feel sick to my stomach when I think about having kids, maybe I'm not such a great candidate for the whole parent thing. If I've lived my entire life not wanting kids, why do you think you're going to change my mind? I've never understood why people push the childfree to reconsider. It's like pushing gay people to be straight. Come on, if only you knew! It's different when it's you! You don't know what you want, you just haven't tried [x]. I'm sure if you tried, you'd love it.

I really hope nothing in this blog post comes across as me saying, "It's stupid to have kids," because I honestly don't think that. Despite how I was raised, I recognize the fact that having kids brings unspeakable happiness and fulfillment to people. Really, I'm glad for people who feel driven to have kids and then do (or adopt). The world should be filled with more parents who want to be parents. The world would not be better off if someone like me had kids. I would not be a good parent. I might not forget about my child for days on end like my frequent nightmares suggest I would, but I would not be happy. I wouldn't do right by the child, I would not be the best parent I could be. And really, why would I have kids if it's not something I've longed for my whole life?

Just for the record, yes, I do realize at some point in time, I might feel differently. That's why I'm not running out and getting my tubes tied. Although I think it's possible I COULD change my mind, I really, honestly don't see it changing. It's been the one constant opinion I've had my whole life. As well, the older I get, the more content and sure about I feel. It's like a comfy chair that just keeps getting more comfy.

4 Years in Photos

Today would have been my 7th anniversary in Nunavut had I not left. Seven years ago, I woke up at the crack of dawn, said goodbye to Ontario, and got on a plane (for the first time ever). It's a day I won't soon forget.

In honour of my unanniversary, here are 7 of my favourite Nunavut memories, in no particular order: chronological order:

1. Being driven around Rankin Inlet after arriving. For starters, it was 4C that day in Rankin, and we had left a humidex of 45C in Ontario.

Rankin Inlet looked something like this:


Rankin Inlet, August 2006

It looked so dirty (as in, lots of dirt) and rustic. I had seen many photos on the Internet prior to moving but nothing can really prepare you for the first time you set foot in Nunavut. I remember thinking something cliché like, "We're not in Kansas anymore!" I felt impossibly far away from everything I'd ever known, and even though I was excited, I was also scared shitless that first night. Not only did my new home look like Mars, but we couldn't even afford to leave if we wanted to.


2. Summer 2006 was all about exploring Rankin Inlet (on foot, no quad yet). It was a lifelong dream of mine to one day see Hudson Bay. I felt immensely happy to be able to see it everyday. I wasn't working yet and would sometimes go for walks during the day, staring at everything and trying to soak in Rankin Inlet. I will always have a special spot in my heart for Rankin Inlet; it took a long time to stop missing it once I'd left in 2008.



3. Summer 2007. It was a great summer, to put it mildly. I had started my job and made several friends in town. It was a summer full of quad rides on the land, bonfires, messy Legion nights, and mosquitos. My best friend Erin and I still laugh ourselves silly at all the crazy stories from that summer.

After a night of drinking, we'd hop on over to Kativik for some frozen boxes of fish and chips. Then we'd head to one of our apartments and shove the stuff into a barely preheated oven. Sometimes we wouldn't even wait for the food to cook all the way through before digging in. We'd bitch and moan that we wished we lived in Iqaluit, where you can just call up The Snack and they bring you junk food!


4. My 22nd Birthday. I had moved to Iqaluit (alone) just a month prior and hadn't really made any friends besides a coworker or two. I love celebrating my birthday and was dreading spending it at home alone. The one friend I'd made, without really realizing what a big deal it would be to me, planned a birthday party for me and invited people over. She cooked me dinner, and made not one but two cakes, and fed me chocolate martinis all night. What I thought would be a sad and depressing birthday ended up being one of the best birthdays I've ever had.


5. Summer 2008. Are you sensing a trend with me and my Nunavut summers? This was a quiet summer, I still didn't know too many people. I had a good friend at this point and we'd drive around in my new-used Suzuki XL-7, pigging out on the Snack and drinking at the Store House. I spent a lot of time reflecting on the past and started to break out of the depression I'd been in for a while.


The day I got the Suzuki, my first car vehicle. August 2008.

I cannot think of summer 2008 without thinking of Death Cab for Cutie's Narrow Stairs album. The two go hand in hand for me, that album was my anthem during summer 2008. When I listen to that album now, I can feel the same simultaneous sadness and excitement I felt during that summer.

6. Tori's and Anthony's visits.




My lifelong "BFF" Tori came up for a visit in December 2008, and Anthony came up twice in 2010. It was totally awesome getting to show my southern people around my home. What northerner can resist taking a visitor to the grocery store to see prices? It may sound odd, but I'm grateful and thankful that my close friend and my boyfriend got to see what my life was like for 4 years, and to experience it themselves, albeit on a smaller scale.

7. I was looking through my Facebook photos and I realized I missed a whole ton of memorable times, so #7 is devoted to every other great memory. Here are some photos, hopefully you're not viewing this on slow Internet!



Cape Dorset, April 2009


Erin and Jaime, Iqaluit, July 2010


Anthony and Jaime, Iqaluit, April 2010


Iglulik, November 2009


Morning sunset, Iglulik, November 2009


Iglulik, November 2009


My first (and last) sealift, summer 2009


The midnight sunshine view from my apartment, Iqaluit, June 2009


Yikes! Cape Dorset, April 2009


Erin's long weekend in Iqaluit, summer 2008


Red Iqaluit sunset, summer 2008


Meeting Jen!, Iqaluit, summer 2008


Typical night in Rankin Inlet, winter 2007


Nunavut friends are forever friends. Rankin Inlet, June 2007


My uniform for 4 years, day one. Rankin Inlet, winter 2006


The only proof I was ever a college student. Rankin Inlet...late 2006? early 2007?


Deciding to make a hot tub out of that quad wheel-barrow thing. Rankin Inlet, July 2007


One of my favourite photos of all time. The cabin, Rankin Inlet 2007 (RIP Paul)


Toonik Tyme Igloo, Iqaluit, April 2010


Trusty steed, Iqaluit, April 2010


My first time driving a snowmobile. Outside Iqaluit, April 2010


IQ Day, somewhere outside Iqaluit, April 2010


Chesterfield Inlet, November 2009


Repulse Bay, November 2009