thebluesock

By Cynthia Bigrigg          Photo By Cynthia Bigrigg

The story of our friendship is legendary.  Once upon a time.  Six years ago, a boy and a girl who couldn’t stand each other.  Then something changed.  One day there was something there that wasn’t there before.  An extension of kindness, a glimmer of respect.  A heartfelt compliment, a heartfelt smile.  One on top of the other, they built something strong.  Something they couldn’t understand, a strength unfathomable…

We laughed until tears streamed down our cheeks.  We didn’t speak like the stubborn mules we were.  We flew down backroads – the bumpy, dusty, country ones that we knew so well – at speeds that would appall our parents.  We sat on my front porch and talked into the darkness.  We lifted each other up and we broke each other’s hearts like teenagers do.

The first September of the rest of our lives rolled around and I left without saying goodbye.  At the town fair on Thanksgiving you wouldn’t meet my eyes across the booming agricultural hall.  You happily chatted with our friends amidst the competition tables and the smell of hay, and ignored me.  When I returned in November we pushed the limits, exploring the boundaries of our friendship on top of the water tower hill, making our adolescent mistakes.  Seventeen is an age of innocence, but curiosity abounds and knowledge is just around the corner.

My first year of university flew by in a blur.  My last summer at home had its ups and downs with you.  I left again and we grew apart.  You found love in a serious girlfriend and a year after that I fell in love with a charming man nine years my senior.  They say the first time won’t ever last.  In separate cities and separate lives we found out they were right – we suffered our heartbreaks unbeknownst to the other.

I graduated university and left a dreary city and a failing relationship for a small town in the mountains, three thousand kilometers away.  I don’t know how we reconnected.  I suspect that Fate played a hand, for he had been my constant companion all summer long.  Soon you were on a plane, making your way speedily above the golden prairies.  As I waited at the bottom of the escalator in the airport for you to appear I shook – with anxiousness, anticipation, joy, suspense…

I will never forget when you appeared.  I grinned goofily and waited impatiently for the motor-steps to bring you down to me.  You walked over to me wordlessly and lifted me into the hug that I had forgotten…

Who knew that we could still be such good friends, that there was mutual understanding?  Who knew we would be so much better at this at twenty-two than at seventeen?  Who knew our adventures would be bigger, better and more fun?  Who knew we could span years and provinces?  Who knew we could still laugh until tears streamed down our cheeks and talk long into the darkness?  You and I, we’ve climbed mountains.

Yes, the story of our friendship is epic.  It is the stuff of legends.  I replay it in my head and savour the highs and the lows.  I love the good times and the seemingly insignificant details.  But my favourite part of the story of our friendship is that it carries on.  My favourite part is that it is not The End.

By Cynthia Bigrigg

My mother’s parents always had an ancient television topped with a pair of “bunny ears.” I liked it this way. My grandparents lived three hours away from my home growing up, so it was always a special treat when we got to visit them – something that my sisters and I anticipated anxiously, that we packed and re-packed for until the day finally arrived.

As a child, while Mom was still sleeping, Grandma would make us breakfast and send us into the living room to watch Saturday morning cartoons – Bugs and Tweety distorted by fuzzy lines running down the screen, by the snaps and crackles of the incoming signal. As I got older, most of the television-watching in my grandparents’ house happened in the evenings – “Jepoardy,” “Wheel of Fortune” and “This Hour Has 22 Minutes” on the beloved CBC, one of the four or five channels that the bunny ears could pick up on, and definitely a favourite. It became a bit of a game, trying to adjust the antenna to get as close to a perfect picture on the screen as possible, so we could see just how grey and aged Alex Trebek was becoming. There was something special about these evenings that I didn’t recognize at the time. My father rarely joined us on our visits to my mom’s parents, so my mother, sisters, grandparents, myself (and in the early years, my young aunts) all crowded around the picture box in the living room. In the early years there was a popcorn maker. My Grandpa would make a plain bowl for us and Grandma would melt some butter to put on top. It was a family activity. We enjoyed our fuzzy, distorted entertainment together. Of course, we did other things together too, but watching the moving pictures brushed over with moving lines brought everyone in that house together at once as a community. This always made me happy.

When I heard recently that bunny ears would soon be obsolete, that towers would stop transmitting the signals that they could pick up and that television would only be accessible by cable or satellite, I became rather irrational. I was upset. In fact, I was downright sad and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. And then it dawned on me: In my own home growing up we had cable television, a computer, and many, many more material things. But what we were lacking in my family was the unity that I found in front of my grandparents’ old television.

Times have changed. My divorced parents live in separate houses, and my sisters and I all live apart. For my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, all of their children pitched in and bought them a flatscreen television and a satellite subscription. I have a sneaking suspicion that although they have hundreds of channels available, their television remains mostly on the CBC. I sometimes have a secret laugh about that. I hope that someday I will be able to tell my own children about the bunny ears, and will be able to form the type of unity that my grandparents’ showed me in my own family.

By Cynthia Bigrigg Photo By Guylaine B.

Max and I sit opposite each other on the red couch. He holds a green bottle in his left hand and wrestles with my puppy with his right. Max and I might have had a moment once, but it feels like ages ago. Tonight what we have can’t be described as anything other than honest friendship.

When Max talks, you can’t help but pay attention – partly because of his thick Quebecois accent, partly because you want to hear what he has to say. Sitting on the red couch, he talks easily about his family – how his mother went to school after having him and how he tagged along to class with her, how his father worked odd jobs. He tells me about the moment he realized his grandmother – a small town socialite (or in Max’s French-To-English translation, “social genius”) was getting old – how she forgot to put the coconut in her traditional coconut cake. The family sat around the table eating it, no one quite able to figure out what was different about it until after dessert when someone found the bag of coconut, unopened, in the cupboard. He tells me about his grandfather’s box of war souvenirs – legal documents, pictures of German families from the pockets of soldiers he helped capture, letters from a girl he knew before he met Max’s grandmother. It sounds like magic to me. He says when his grandpa died, he was insistent that he got to keep that box. He says he got his grandfather’s war box and his grandmother’s cookbooks. I have never met someone who loves to cook as much as Max does.

We sip our beers and he talks about how he gets bored easily and likes to change jobs and towns, how he needs to be challenged. I tell him that I think that is a good thing, but he says it is hard, frustrating. He would much rather be able to settle, be able to be “content.” I know when he says “content,” what he really means is “bored but okay with that.” I laugh because he is frustrated with not being content, but would also be frustrated being content. I tease him and tell him I guess he will never be happy either way, but I don’t believe that – the thing he talks the most about is home, his small town. Learning to play hockey on the rink his dad made in their backyard, supper with his mom, the perfect mix of Quebec and New Brunswick culture, how nobody gets dressed up to go to the store – the less fancy your clothes, the better you fit in. He says when he is ready to settle down and start a family he wants to go back there, and I envy him a little. He knows what will make him happy – he has already had it. It occurs to me that I will never have that. I will never have one place that I grew up in, where all of my memories exist, one place that I love and am loyal to. One place that is a part of me and that I am a part of because it is home.

We finish our beers and say goodnight. I go to my room and ponder a little more about what it is that I want out of life – right now and beyond. It’s funny how others can influence you and open your eyes. I have been missing my family lately, but I know that I am doing the right thing. Maybe I will make those memories that I crave right here, starting right now. Maybe this will be home, or maybe it will remain a stepping stone.

By Cynthia Bigrigg          Photo By Jane Ta

A new chapter has begun – I can see it in myself and in those around me.  What started out as a five-month trip to self-discovery has turned into my life.  The seasons are changing and so is everything else.  It is time for me to adopt the attitude of Summer: We have to live life the best way that we can – and take it with me into Autumn, Winter, and beyond that into a lifetime.  I strongly believe that this lesson is what I was supposed to learn, that this lesson was the higher purpose of me coming out here.  Yes, everything is changing.  Everything always does.  I have always loved and embraced change, and I know I am not going to stop now.  With change comes different opportunities to devour hungrily.  And I will.

I am excited to grow closer to the group of people who I know are staying for the winter, and yet I am feeling oddly vulnerable.  I love quickly and freely and for the first time I am afraid of what might happen.  An odd contrast to my newfound attitude.  I know now that people might stay here for a season, or they might stay here for a few years, but sooner or later most of them will move on.  But, such is life, and living life in the best way that I can, I believe that there is a reason for everything, and it is the right reason.  I will continue to trust in this.  I will continue to love quickly and freely.  And I will squeeze every drop of happiness and pure joy that I can from every moment and bask in its light.   This is who I am now.

By Cynthia Bigrigg         Photo By Jane Ta

I can tell that summer is drawing to a close.  Though it is a beautiful, sunny day, the wind is cold and the beach is all but deserted.  The water ripples imploringly up onto the sand, and in the distance waves sparkle on a lake that is normally still.

People are dissipating from the town – the main drag gets less and less busy every day.  Tourists are heading back to wherever it is that they came from, and so are the staff – back to college, back to real life.  But not me.  I’ve done the leaving my entire life.  Leaving, changing, suddenly.  I’ve always imagined the people and places that I left stood still, frozen in time, unchanged by age and life, remaining just how I left them.  But now I know this can’t be true.  Now I am the one standing still, but nothing is the same, everything is changing.  I feel like I have been living in a microcosm with a few of my new friends this summer, having the most fun and carefree times, things that were unbeknownst to me before May.  Untouched by the outside world.  Now the outside world is invading, one of our group is heading back across the country.  The whole dynamic is changing, becoming something completely different.  It is nearly impossible to get us all together, and when we do, we don’t dare go deeper than the bare surface of our friendship.  We won’t go deep, we won’t get sentimental.  We aren’t like that.  We would rather keep it light, keep it happy, not worry about the future.  Not worry at all, really.  Maybe that’s what all of my relationships will be like here.  Maybe that’s a good thing.  Maybe I like it that way.

When I think back over the few months that I have spent here, I wonder at them.  Writing has been such an instrumental part of my life, but I find that I have been too busy living my life to write about it.  Maybe that is a good thing too.  May to August.  Who knew that so much change could be crammed into four months?  This microcosm of friends that I have, they have taught me in these months to use what I have, do what I have to, and ask for help when I need it.  They have taught me to go with the flow, to grab an opportunity when it presents itself, and to let go and have fun.  They have taught me a few (dirty) words in French, and above all they have taught me to live in the moment, fully and completely.  I love them from the bottom of my heart for that.  But we don’t go deep, we don’t get sentimental.  So I can only hope that they know.

By Cynthia Bigrigg          Photo By Jane Ta
In a fit of rage my father told me, “You think you are entitled.”  Growing up in a family where “no means no” and obedience and selflessness were prized and encouraged traits for my sisters and I, I know these words were slung at me – a grown woman who left the nest years ago – as an insult.  But he was almost right.  I KNOW I am entitled.  We all are, and none of us at the detriment of others.  We exist, and we are entitled to all of the joy, wealth, happiness and love that the world can provide.  And the world does provide.  No two people are alike, and no two people want the same things.  There is more than enough in this world to provide us all with what we are entitled to.

About a week later, I spent a day in Banff, Alberta – about a three hour drive from the town I reside in.  I am beginning to remember that I truly enjoy my own company.  Three hours each way alone in my car with me, myself and I traversing through the Canadian Rockies?  Almost as enjoyable as my destination.  In a tiny boutique on the main street of that mountain town I stumbled across these great, delicate, handmade necklaces.  They were small, gold, and cost more money than I had ever spent on a single piece of jewelry in my life.  Each was crafted with a specific mantra in mind (hope, faith, luck, karma).  The one I chose was a thin gold chain with a tiny butterfly, and the mantra “learning to fly.”  I simply couldn’t resist – this entire adventure has been me learning to fly.  It was too perfect.  Some of the proceeds of my purchase went towards building schools for girls in countries where boys are much more likely to receive an education.  Just like I am entitled to everything that the world has to offer, so are those young women.

This entire adventure doesn’t stop at the end of the summer though.  I made the (extremely easy) decision to stay here for at least the next year.  I just moved into the most beautiful apartment that I have lived in since I left home with two fun-loving girls from Ontario.  For once in my life I know that I am where I am supposed to be.  For once in my life I know that I am doing the right thing.  For me.  I am entitled to that.

By Cynthia Bigrigg          Photo By Jane Ta

It’s amazing how much can change in three weeks – how one can go from feeling despair, confusion and uncertainty, to feeling more joy than ever before and knowing with every inch of their being that everything is the way it should be.  I wasn’t sure what to expect after finding myself newly single.  I know it will take more time – maybe weeks or even months – to heal completely, but I have discovered just how strong I really am.  And I have discovered that strength does not mean ignoring what you are feeling, but rather it means being with your feelings and allowing yourself to feel them.  I find myself quite capable.

It’s amazing how much can change in a matter of days – how one can find that the person they trusted the most for their whole twenty-two years is a liar, a self-centered machine whose actions and relationships exist to serve a single purpose – their own.  A crushing feeling that turned into the greatest form of liberation when I discovered that it wasn’t this other person that I trusted the most – it was and will continue to be myself.  Maybe I haven’t been my own person.  Maybe I thought I was, but I had the wool pulled over my eyes.  I know I am my own person now, and I am intelligent, gutsy.  I’ve got nerve.

It’s amazing how much can change in a matter of hours.  How a tentative plan can turn into a year’s worth of glorious commitment.  How a signature and a number on a piece of paper can solidify an adventure, ensure that it continues.  A lease, a new space to make my own, a life instead of transience.  Something new around every corner, more to learn, more to grow.  Three young women from the same place, in another place, brought together by Fate, Destiny, Lack Of Suitable Living Arrangements.

This is the beginning of something (else) wonderful.

By Cynthia Bigrigg          Photo By Jane Ta

Tell God your plans and He WILL laugh at them.  Even when they are the best laid ones, even when you want them the most.  He will laugh at them and then with a playful flip of His large, Godly hands, he will turn your world upside down.  And even though you suffer from His game, you can’t help but trust that you will win in the end.

So this isn’t the end.  It is the end of my romantic relationship with the best first boyfriend a girl could ask for, one that taught me so much and gave me so much.  It is the end of our hikes and our TV marathons, of our “I love you mores” and our late-night grocery adventures.  It is the end of a lot of things.  It doesn’t feel right yet, but it will, because it is.  And you know what?  He knows that I loved him with everything I have in the best way I knew how, and I know that he loved me with everything he has in the best way that he knew how.  We had that.  It was a very real, tangible thing.  And even if we live to be one-hundred-and-ten years old, no one and nothing can change, erase, or take that away.  That is a good feeling.

So it is the beginning of something new.  A new chapter.  And somewhere, two separate windows are opening.  One for him, and one for me.  I think I know where his leads, and I can’t wait to hear all about his success.  Mine?  I think it leads to a long period of truly discovering myself, of figuring myself out, by myself, on my own.

But then again, maybe God’s sense of humour has yet to be satisfied.

By Cynthia Bigrigg          Photo By Jane Ta

When I started high school I became extremely involved in my community, particularly in school and community theatre.  Between the ages of fifteen and eighteen I worked on anywhere from three to six shows per year.  Beyond that I had a more-than-part-time job, a demanding school schedule and a somewhat challenging family situation.  I was overloaded and began to have meltdowns, crying sessions where I would start and simply couldn’t stop.  My ever-patient father would sit down and tell me that I “had to find the balance” between work and play, between the time I give to everyone else and the time I give to myself.  It sounded like the perfect solution, but it was so much easier said than done.

Flash-forward four years.  What happened after I road-tripped across the country?  I settled down – until I realized that I didn’t want to settle.  I spent a month living in a relatively nice apartment with three lovely young women who were all doing the same thing that I was.  Adventuring.  Except that I wasn’t doing much of that.  I worked…nine hour days five times a week with a four hour shift once a week, leaving me with a measly one and a half days to myself.  I sold expensive jewelry to impulsive tourists and I was good at it.  It was alright for my wallet, but it was horrible for my life.  I was exhausted all of the time and I began to recognize a pattern: wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat.  Sound familiar?  Perhaps a not-so-slight echo of the pattern found here?

Wasn’t this the kind of lifestyle that I was running away from?  What I had driven three thousand kilometers away from everything I knew in order to escape?  There was no doubt in my mind.  It certainly was.

I gave myself a good shake.  I was determined to break the pattern and reclaim my life – not just for now, but for good.  I was determined to start a new pattern, one that  I could stick to at least for the rest of my working years.  I quit my job on an impulse, the kind of impulse that concerns my father and that my mother and I don’t talk about in order to avoid arguing.  The same day I handed out resumes to every place in town that was hiring.  The day after that I landed five interviews, and the following day I was hired on the spot at the ever-popular local bakery.  It was my top choice (you may remember from this article that I worked at a bakery all through high school and loved it!) and I was thrilled – a decent wage, great hours, friendly co-workers and customers and two whole days per week where I was on my own time.

Sometimes I refer to my time in this place as a “working vacation,” because that is what it feels like.  Sometimes I ask myself, if I were still living in Ontario, would I demand the same things from my job as I do here, and then I realize that I did demand them, and that was a major reason why I left in the first place.  People here lead an entirely different lifestyle.  I am used to workaholics, people in such a hurry that they can’t take the time to so much as smile to someone they are passing on the sidewalk.  I am used to a place where retreats are organized in order to get away from everyday life, because everyday life takes such a large toll on the body and becomes too much to handle.  These types of relief are not necessary in this place.  It feels good to know that a place like this actually exists, that I am not “out of line” for demanding a balanced lifestyle where I can earn a living and also live my life to the fullest.  “Finding the balance” has been a challenge for me since I started searching for it, and I see now that it was partly due to my surroundings.  I understand what my father meant when he said it now, and now I know just how good, how right it feels.  I guess in order to find something, you have to actively search.

By Cynthia Bigrigg          Photo By Jane Ta

I have wanted a summer adventure since I was thirteen.  As the air conditioner hummed and the teacher explained how to multiply fractions on the blackboard, I was daydreaming about what kind of fun I would have come the end of June.  My high school years brought a driver’s license and a bit more freedom, and I took advantage of that.  I dipped my toes into camping trips with my friends, and while they were always enjoyable there was always something lacking.  I lacked the self-assurance to make my adventures what I wanted them to be.

They say there is no better time than right now.  But it hasn’t been until now that I have been completely ready.  It has been one month since I took the plunge and traded city life in Southern Ontario for the gorgeous, flat prairies and magnificent, formidable mountains of Alberta.  It has been the adventure of a lifetime.  I have never felt more fulfilled, satisfied or inspired in my twenty-two years.  I have made it what I wanted it to be, and therefore it is perfect.  Here’s how you can do this same:

1) Pick a mode of transportation

I prefer the car – it means I get to my destination and see all of the great sights along the way.  It means I can detour to see The Big Nickle, or that cute little farming town.  To me, being able to make these stops along the way enriches the whole experience.  If you can’t use a car and still want to see the sights, train is a great way to get to your destination (assuming it is on the same continent) and not miss a thing (or you can sleep – bonus!).

2) Pick a theme song, or two, or two hundred

Nothing beats driving across the prairies to the twang of country music, flying down the highway to Tom Petty, or driving near the ocean to feel-good pop music.  Make yourself a custom playlist for the trip and burn it to a CD (or five) or put it on your iPod.  Music is great for enhancing your mood and the scenery!

3) Let go of your inhibitions

This does not mean “do something stupid.”  Rather, do things you wouldn’t normally do.  Talk to strangers on the street, especially the locals.  Try a dish you have never had.  If you are uptight, loosen up!  Find a local club and dance like no one is watching – after all, you are in control.  You can continue on in your adventure and never see anyone who saw you bust a move (and your knee) ever again!

4) Do something a little sneaky

Everybody loves an adrenaline rush once in a while.  One of the best times I have had in the last month was sneaking into the hot tub of a local hotel.  Changing in public behind a towel that my friend held up (…what?…the changer room was locked), acting inconspicuous as the security guard passed, pretending to be a guest and bursting into giggles once he was around the corner – all of these things made for an awesome time and an awesome memory.  Pick something safe, fun, and a little faux pas and commit to it.  You might find that it becomes a guilty pleasure!

5) Do what you want to

This doesn’t need much explaining.  It’s your adventure.  You make the rules.  You say what goes and what doesn’t.  Take advantage!

6) Have a great attitude

You can make the best plans in the world, but we all know that life doesn’t always go according to plan.  Four days into my trip, one day to go, I stopped to get gas in the only town for miles only to find that my credit card was frozen.  Panic set in, and when I finally got it together I travelled the town looking for an internet signal to check my online banking to see what was up.  This is the kind of thing that could ruin a day, or even a week.  Instead I got it figured out and had a good laugh at myself for looking around this one-horse town for a wireless signal.  It’s important to keep things light and to keep an optimistic attitude even when things get sticky.  With this kind of outlook, you are bound to have the best adventure of your life no matter what curveballs are thrown your way!

Pick a place, pick a time, mix these six ingredients together and have your own adventure of a lifetime.