The Crazy Man at Starbucks

Since moving downtown I've learned a couple of things.

Learn the transit,

Drink Starbucks because Tim Hortons is just too Suburban and unhip,

And ignore the crazy people.

When I first moved to Toronto, I couldn't help but notice them. Even more disturbing was the "sane" people who walked passed them, Ignored them, told them to go get a job. "How cruel" I thought. How could people be so cold? How can you just walk past another human being like they were a crumpled up piece of garbage they found lying on the floor.

Fast forward 3 years later.

I have become one of those people. The kind of person who walks by my fellow city dwellers who hang out near the Princess of Whales theatre, or the local grocery stores. I choose not to see them. They annoy me. They should certainly go and get a job.

But for the past couple of months I've taken a new route to work.

I drive my electric bike and stop off at the local Starbucks in the morning for my morning dose of my ethically grown and environmentally friendly cup of Java. "Good for me" I say, as I read the side of the Starbucks cup that proudly announces that just by stopping in and buying a cup, I have helped Starbucks help farmers in several countries. I have contributed to employing more and more farmers around the world. I am doing my job to help others. Am I?

It's a morning ritual for me. Every morning, like clock work, I grab my coffee.

Every morning I also see the crazy man on the patio who chants prayers in a language I don't understand. Every morning, I take a seat on the same patio and read the Metro paper online from my Iphone. And every morning, I get to know the crazy man a little bit more.

He's tanned. His skin tells stories of travel and his eyes have a history so deep that I often want to ask, but I don't.

Who are you?

Where's your family?

Where do you live?

People stare at him and laugh and I find myself getting angry. Because beneath his weathered skin and misunderstood body language, I see a spirit and a man that has a heart.

Yesterday, I sat a little closer to him. He knows me now. I looked up at him today and smiled at him and softly nodded my head.

He nodded back.

He's my crazy Starbucks friend who says nothing to me every morning but in a strange way, almost checks in to see if I'm there.

And now I'm starting to realize, that sometimes people label others crazy, when someone doesn't look like them, talk like them, think like them. We label them unfortunate and underprivileged. Meanwhile, most of us head to a job we hate and go home to a neighborhood where we don't know our neighbors. My Starbucks friend talks to the birds and they seem to talk back. He has a higher level of connectedness with God than most. But he is unfortunate, right?

I watch him as he stretches his arms out towards the sky as if to do some kind of yoga that my undiagnosed ADD would never have patience for.

He seems happy.

He seems at peace.

My Starbucks friend is far more in tune with himself than any sane downtowner I know.

And although we'll never speak the same language,

And we may never sit exactly at the same table.

I understand him, and he understands me,

And you know,

That's not so crazy.

I'm a writer..

I'm a writer.

That's what I've been telling myself and thankfully there is some proof of it on the web and in a local magazine every three months.

I'm a writer.

But the fact of the matter is, lately, I've chosen to take the title without doing the work.

I'm too busy, life is hectic, I just don't have time..

I just don't have time for one of the things that brings me pure joy.

I'm a writer.

I sometimes wonder if I'm the only one that doesn't make as much time as they should to do what God has put me here to do.

The other day, one of my friends, who just so happens to be doing her writing, put a quote on her wall. It affected me so greatly that I actually wanted to ignore it, but I couldn't. Couldn't ignore the blatant message that I needed to hear.

And that quote said

"When I stand before God, at the end of my life, I would hope I could say I don't have a single talent left. I used everything you gave me!" ...thanks for that trey.

I tried to shove it off, pretend it didn't bother me.

But when people ask..

I tell them.

I'm a writer.

So I ask you..

What is it that you are NOT doing in your life that brings you pure joy?

Are you dancing like you should be? Singing? Baking? Knitting?

What is it in your life that you have decided is no longer essential because it's "not realistic" or can't pay your cable bill. And the second question is, what are you replacing it with? Empty fillers? A job that pays the bills but doesn't fill your soul with satisfaction?

I'm afraid, I let life get the better of me. Let excuses take over and allowed myself to become the people I sighed at as they made their way along the sidewalk, scurrying along going nowhere more important than what they really should be doing...their passion.

So,

I'm a writer.

And it's necessary for me to do the one thing that allows me to drift away. The one thing that doesn't put limits on the what I believe. Allows me to tell stories the way I want them to. I am free to make my forever afters, play by my rules. It's the one place where I can be whoever I choose to be, meet whoever I want to meet, dream whatever dreams I choose to dream.

Because,

I am a writer.

And it's time I start writing.

Someone else's STUFF

Today,

I allowed someone to affect me in ways I never thought they would. I allowed someone to spew their "stuff" all over me, and their words dripped down my shoulders and somehow found a way to soak into my spirit.

Today, I allowed someone to dictate how the rest of my day should go.

I walked slower, my shoulders slouched, my eyes got red and I felt an angry cry coming. For me, an angry cry is a dangerous cry. It's not the type of cry where one weeps against a rock by a babbling brook, rather, an angry cry makes staplers whip across a room, and makes old ladies with canes jump out of the way. Today I felt to do that angry cry.

I held it back.

Held it back because I've been told "Never let them see you cry". It's a form of weakness. And although I don't subscribe to that "suck it up" mentality,today, I did.

I came home, lit my over priced Bath and Body works candle, turned on my music and turned off the phone. Sat in it. Felt what I needed to feel without any disruptions.

And I realized, today, that person had to get me mad. This person had to insult my intelligence, had to overwhelm me with their ego..all of this had to happen, so I could remember, that this was all my choice.

Instead of taking the easy road of "poor me", I am choosing to remember that I have a choice to accept this behavior, or turn away from it.

These are also moments that need to be cherished.

Today, I will try and bottle this feeling.

Remember exactly how I felt in that moment.

So the next time I rush someone while they are speaking, choose to always think I'm right, put my "stuff" all over someone without them asking for it, accuse, judge or pretend that someone's opinion doesn't matter. I'll remember how I feel today.

To me, I experienced a small gift that came in the form of a slap. Not a physical slap. No forms of violence at all. But the kind of slap that needs no words, just looks. The kind of slap that doesn't speak, but doesn't allow you to speak either. A message from God that whispered, "My child, you're wasting every moment you have here"...

But the beauty of this day is, that at the end of the day,

I still know who I am,

Where I want to be,

And who I want to surround myself with.

So I set the bath, listened to some Yolanda Adams, closed my eyes and washed away the "stuff".

And I thank God at the end of the day that I have a door that I can close, a bath that I can stretch out in, a computer I can play music on, and the peace of mind that I am greater than someone else's STUFF.

I want to be in love...

I want to be in love

I want to be in love,
Not a regular kind of every day love,
But the kind of love that doesn’t make me focus at work,
Lose track of time,
Get sunburned while sitting by the water,
Thinking about you.

I want to be in love,
The kind of love that makes me eat foods I wouldn’t usually try,
Just because I want to taste what makes your taste buds come alive.

If I’m going to be in love,
The kind of love I’m looking for,
makes flowers talk,
the air smell sweet,
and when you're with me.
Time stands still,
Burdens fall away,

I want to be in love.
So I can wrap surprises in pretty pieces of paper
and leave it under your pillow.
Burn food on the stove I’ve never made
from cookbooks I’d never usually buy
in an attempt to make you the perfect meal.

And when I do finally make that meal
We never eat it anyway.
The food gets cold because
There’s no time to eat...
Food.

The kind of love
that doesn’t need words,
You don't have to give me your last Rolo,
I already know what's mine is yours,
what's yours is mine.


I want to be in love,
the kind of love where you meet in my dreams
and when you meet me there,
We talk about how great it will be
when you meet me in the morning.

I want to be in love.
But for now,
I’ll write this poem
tuck it away amongst the packages of surprises I’ve yet to wrap and place under your pillow.

Hide it between the pages of the cookbooks I’ve yet to buy.

Because one day.

I’ll be in love.

Girls That Smoke

I blame it on Brampton.

Perhaps my desire to fit in, be cool...be like the Fonz.

Some of my earliest memories of cigarettes were the ones my parents used to store in a small mahogany box in the "fancy room" that you only go in when company comes over.

When no one was looking, I'd go into that room, open the box up and smell the little white sticks lined neatly in that box.

For those of you who have never smoked a cigarette, an unsmoked cigarette actually has a sweet sort of smell to it and the kind of smell that brings me back to days of watching my parents wind down at the end of the day, in the room kids don't go in unless company comes over.

Being a child of the 80's, a time where kids were still actually afraid of their parents, I dared not take one.

Instead, my friend Colleen and I would make make shift cigarettes from grass and paper and try and smoke it. Didn't quite work out.

But the day did come.

The day I had my first cigarette. In the girls washroom in high school. Hanging out with the "cool girls" who wore telephone coil hair extensions and walked with a strut that I wanted to emulate.

Now most of us will find a way to put blame on others for their smoking habits. I don't. This was all me.

And it took me over 15 years to realize that it was time to stop. Stop before it stopped me.

5 months ago, my good friend Sean introduced me to an audio book called Allen Carr's easy way to stop smoking. I secretly laughed at him when he said "just try it Rach". I had tried everything; the pills, the patch...infact, I'd put a patch on, rip it off, smoke, and then put the patch back on.

All along, I knew it was disgusting habit and one thing is for sure.

Boys don't like girls who smoke.

But I couldn't stop.

I'd have fights with boyfriends on dates, just so I could leave and have a long awaited cigarette that I yearned for. Screw date night... I just wanted to smoke.

But as much as I laughed at this little audio book. That little audio book has had me smoke free for 5 months now. And I don't think Sean realized it but he's literally saved my life.

So,

If your a smoker...

It's time to stop.

And I'm not going to harp on you, or shake a finger at you...because God knows that doesn't work. But I will tell you that if a girl like me who has been fascinated by cigarettes from the age of about 5, can finally turn away from it...

So can you.

Today, a man walked by me and blew cigarette smoke in my face..

and I thought to myself..

the little white sticks in the mahogany boxes really didnt' smell that great.

If you do anything for yourself...

may it be over eating

bad self talk,

drugs or any kinds of addictions...

get help.

Don't let anything over power you that much that you risk your life for it.

It's just not worth it.

And if you need help.

I'm here.

Rachael-Lea

I shifted somewhere between Front and Queen Street...

Most recently, I started reading a book called "The Art of Extreme Self Care" by Cheryl Richardson. My friend trey had read it and it seemed to have made a huge impact on her life almost immediately. I have to say, it's done the same for me.

It's an easy read and I carry it with me on the street car and read it when I can. The street car is my time to zone out and just let the driver take me to my destination without the care of having my hands on the wheel. A few days ago, somewhere between Front and Queen Street, I had a shift.

I've always been one who wants to please. Please my parents, please my friends, please my fans. Please others. To be that good daughter, good friend, good community leader. Saying yes to things when I really want to say no, and in the end, disappointing others when I seem to waver back and forth. No is a hard word for me, and so me and Mr.No will be spending a lot of time together over the next little while. Be ok in his company, learn to say it more often, enjoy saying it without fear or guilt. A difficult task, but a necessary one.

Most recently, I've made some very big choices to take projects off my plate that no longer serve me like they used to, and while I hurt some people in the process, I had to be ok with that.

I'm arguing less.

I've always been the one who needs to "be right" or at least go down with a good fight.

I'm tired of fighting.

I'm walking away from the battles and choosing to live a more peaceful life.

I'm having conversations with my parents that are way over due, because time is precious and not on our side.

My friend Jem jokes with me sometimes, because lately, I seem to want to do everything. I want to learn to kick box, I want to salsa, I want to laugh more, learn to sail, travel to foreign countries. And for an outsider looking in, yup, I might seem a bit nuts.

To me...

I think I'm realizing how wonderful and precious life is, and it's about time that I enjoy every moment of it.

And so...

I'm really not sure what inspired this blog tonight. Maybe to put this down somewhere so that I might look back on it and remind myself how joyous I feel in this very minute.

Maybe I'm writing it because there's someone out there who's wasting their precious life talking about what they "can't" do, instead of what they can.

But either way, somewhere between Front and Queen Street, on a TTC street car...My thought patterns have changed and my soul feels lighter.

And I hope yours will too.

Rachael-Lea

I thank you for the lump in my throat...

I've got a lump in my throat.

The kind of lump that if a glass of water would wash away,

I'd drink it by the gallons.

But no matter how much water I drink.

I still have a lump in my throat.

As much as I don't want that lump in my throat..

That lump...

Reminds me that I am human.

That my heart beats

and that it feels

and that it is alive.

I have to remember...

Every lump I've ever gotten in my throat...

Has always been a blessing.

Rachael-lea