#94- Sunsets

I found myself sitting on a dock in Muskoka cottage country, beside my girlfriend, last weekend watching the sun set on another great day and another amazing summer. 

It was a bittersweet moment, knowing that summer was done and I was leaving Ottawa and everything that city meant; my home for the last four years, memories, lessons learned, cute Parliament cats and of course my girlfriend who lives and works there. 

Even with all that in the back of my mind I just couldn't find it in me to be sad. Maybe it was the promise of s'mores, or the smell of BBQ wafting from the cottage (you can tell I like food).

But really I think the reason was the sunset. Next to its beauty, as the sun slipped behind the tree-covered hills and calm waters, the sunset signaled, as corny as it sounds, the beginning of something new. If I've learned anything it's that new is scary, but arrives at your doorstep anyways and should be embraced if you want to enjoy life.

The sunset is a moment to reflect on what has been, the day that has passed, the moments, the things you've learned, the obstacles and the triumphs you've had. It is a marker to prepare you for what is to come; a great night full of fun or a dark few hours to persevere through.

It is the end to one day and the promise that a new one will emerge, it is an end so a beginning can emerge. The daily example the sunset gives is important to me right now, on the cusp of a transition from school to applying my lessons to something that is hopefully progressive and helpful to society. It shows me that maybe new isn't just scary, but a chance to venture into another era of darkness, light and, at the end, another sunset that I will lament, but take joy in as well.

And most importantly the sunset is there to give hope. When the sky paints itself in colours thought unimaginable it shows that the impossible is not so impossible, that anything is within reach, that there is something that is still good in the world even if it seems like everything is crumbling around you.

So I am grateful for sunsets. I am grateful that I have been around for 8016 of them so far, out of car windows, airplanes, from desks, stores, porches, patios, half way around the world and right at home, 

wherever that may be. I am grateful for the way sunsets signify change and the opportunities that it brings, chances to have fun, be strong, achieve the impossible, reflect, get better and give thanks. 

#93- Losing My Bus Pass

Last Friday morning could not have started any worse. 

It was horribly and and unseasonably cold for a summer morning and I sat shivering at a table on the patio of a coffee shop. I was tired and still had to work that day. As I got up from the table I patted my pocket, a reactionary tick I have to check if I have everything. Where there was supposed to be a bus pass there was only a piece of crumbled paper and the feeling of utter despair. I desperately rifled through my backpack only to come up empty again. I had lost my bus pass. 

So much for T.G.I.F.

After a violent mood swing that featured more cursing than an R-rated movie and exaggerated "why me" moments fit for the stage, I accepted that losing my bus pass was not that big of a deal. It was in fact a blessing in disguise.

Losing my bus pass meant less sitting on crusty, blue seats watching the world go by and more walking around in the sunshine, taking in the world around me. 

I explored my new neighbourhood, I noticed interesting new nooks in a city I thought I already had completely figured out. I stopped to look at books at the little, independent bookstore around the corner from me. I saw a lady sing about an American privateer, whatever that is.

I had been stuck, stuck on buses, going about the daily grind and not noticing all the beauty that summer in Ottawa had to offer. Losing my bus pass was a ticket out of this rut.

So I am grateful for losing my bus pass. I am grateful that life made me stop and realize its beauty when I refused to do so on my own. And even though I know I will need to get a new bus pass for next month, I will always remember that part of summer my own two feet were the best transportation around.

#91- Lost and Found

It was one of those moments that was full of what I would like to dub the Sad Clown Phenomenon. I had had an amazing day, going out for lunch, a trip to the museum, and now a $2 dollar comedy with my girlfriend and had all the reason in the world to be loving life. And yet I was very, very sad. That's because, in my sheer stupidity, I had left my beloved J-school hoodie somewhere in the mall and was convinced that I would never see it again.

I managed to forget about it and enjoy the movie, but was still sad enough to refuse candy from my girlfriend, a sure sign that the Sad Clown Phenomenon hadn't totally relinquished its grip. After the movie, however, I started to slip back into it until my girlfriend, a true optimist in her perseverance and determination, told me I should look in the mall's lost and found.

I, being full of Sad Clown, still despaired. Of course it wouldn't be there, no one would have turned in my sweater, it was probably being eaten by a pack of Ottawa's infamous hungry groundhogs by now.

Long story short, it was there and I had my sweater back and wore it, draw strings pulled tight for added security, all the way home in the summer heat.

And today I am forever indebted to Lost and Found boxes everywhere.

They are themselves a great thing, a chance to reclaim lost objects of significance and trivial appeal alike. But they are much more than that. They are a symbol of hope, a last bastion of promise and optimism that relief will come; that you will find what is important to you.

It is also an assurance that humans are indeed inherently good creatures. Lost and Founds are a sign that people will do the right thing and want, deep in their hearts and minds, for people to be happy even if they don't know that person and will get nothing, not even a thank you or a look of joy, in return for their good deed.

So I am grateful for the Lost and Found. I am grateful that they are always there, like a network of kindness and hope and human decency and selflessness, when you need it most. And I am grateful that it helped remind me that these things exist in the world and rose me up and out of the pessimism I had given into and back to seeing life like a glass half full.

#85- Shade

We've been riding a minor, spring heat wave here in Ottawa which would be the great if I had air conditioning at my house.

Instead I must enjoy the warm, sunny days choosing whether to slowly melt outside or inside. At least I have a choice, right?

But then there is a third option: bask in the early summer days while sitting beneath a giant oak tree in the park, its shade creating the most comfortable of environments.

I chose that option a couple days ago and sat in the shade in the park, reading a good book and enjoying the blue skies without being roasted by them.

Shade has saved me a few times before. Last summer I was working at the golf course and the heat in the early afternoon would become almost unbearable, but getting that sweet, sweet assignment to tend to the trees meant an afternoon with slightly cooler temperatures.

Shade provides refuge, comfort and a reprieve from the sun without having to waste a beautiful day inside or freezing your fingers off in an over air conditioned building (that's when irony isn't so funny). Shade gives us a place to relax, a perfect picnic spot, a reading nook or a nap area. In short, shade can be whatever you want it to be except boiling hot.

So I am grateful for shade. I am grateful for the trees or awnings or the other things that create shade. I am grateful for way shade allows me to enjoy the summer at the height of its heat without suffering from heat stroke or sun burn. You can have your air conditioning and your fancy fans, but I'll take the shade of a good tree any day.  

#84- Fireworks

This past weekend was Victoria Day weekend, otherwise known as May 2-4 or The Royal May 2-4 if you're a member of the Conservative Party.

There are a few things that happen every May 2-4 weekend as many of you may know. These include cottage country traffic, patios filling up and the air beginning to smell like someone slathered sun screen all over the city.

But one of the best traditions on this holiday weekend is fireworks.

Unfortunately, since Mother Nature decided to make it pour rain last night, I didn't get to see the massive fireworks show in Ottawa. But that doesn't change the fact that fireworks displays are amazing.

Even in a time and place where the miraculous has become the norm with the help of computers, tablets, special effects and those weird glasses you get at 3D movies, the dazzling display of lights and sounds on such a grand scale as a fireworks show can transfix people. And that's the amazing part, that such wonderment and awe can still be felt, such joy can be well up inside of people at seeing the sky turn yellow or red or orange or purple or whatever colour you could think of.

It's so rare to get tens of thousands of people all appreciating such a simple, but beautiful thing at the same time, to get them together and watch as they fall silent in the presence of that beauty. And seeing the fireworks is like seeing a movie for the first time again, when you wonder for a second how such a thing can happen before enjoying the show.

So I am grateful for fireworks. I am grateful for the people who work on setting up the shows for the special days and for the nights when the sky is clear and the air warm enough to enjoy such a display of beauty and might. When I was little I used to be scared of the tremendous sound of fireworks, but I loved watching the bursts of colour and crazy patterns. So I would watch them the window in my bedroom, sad when they finished, not able to get enough of the spectacle. And I don't think I ever will.

#76- New Running Shoes

I knew something was wrong when I couldn't feel my foot.

It was after one of my morning runs last week and I had sprinted the last hundred metres, but when I stopped I nearly fell flat on my face because my right foot felt like a block of cement strapped to my leg.

I came to the conclusion, after months of denial, that my three-year-old training shoes had come to the end of their lifespan.

Those shoes had been with me through a lot. From lacing up with me as I ran down the beautiful Rideau Canal to the snow-dusted paths on campus and the goose-filled park near my house in Toronto.

But they were starting to become a pain in the Achilles Tendon.

So I made the trip to the running store over the weekend to find myself a pair of trainers that wouldn't have me hobbling around.

And after a few solid runs in my new shoes I love them.

They are snug, comfortable and even make me look good while I run down the streets (although I may be a bit delusional about that last bit as I frequently envision myself running in epic slow motion with the soundtrack from Chariots of fire in the background).

But really, they are a great pair of shoes that allow me to go out and get some exercise (those Beaver Tails can really weigh on a guy), explore my community, soak up the great weather we've been having here (no really, there is such a thing as good weather in Ottawa) and most importantly do something I love; run.

Running has been a part of my life for a really long time. It's something I've done with friends, family and in my own peaceful world. It's something that keeps me active and challenges me and makes me feel a natural high (I try reminding myself of this point when I'm cursing a particularly long hill or a stiff breeze coming in my direction as I run). My shoes help me do all this. They are the vehicle for this activity in my life that brings so much happiness.

So I am grateful for my new running shoes. I am grateful they allow me to run comfortably and safely and  give me the chance to do something that is good for my body and mind. I'm grateful I have them as a tool to challenge me in new ways and hopefully make myself a better person.

#73- Hoodies

My computer chair is no longer suitable for sitting on any more.

The hoodies on said chair have taken it over and appear to have formed some sort of symbiotic relationship with the chair that does not allow me to pry them off. I am currently conducting research into the possible benefits of this phenomenon.

Okay, this isn't actually the reason, but it is true that my hoodies are piled so high on my chair that it makes it difficult to sit comfortably on it.

If you know me, you know that I love wearing hoodies, the immensely comfortable and fashionably questionable sweaters. I wear them almost every time I go to run errands or went to school. Once the harsh Ottawa winter hits they are pretty much my best friend (sorry everyone else, avoiding frostbite is a top priority for me). So I don't see much point in hanging them up in my closet when I'm just going to use them again (again, sorry mom, that sentence must pain you). I guess I love hoodies so much I have unconsciously build a little nest of them around me.

But what is there not to love? Other than the aforementioned warm and snuggly feeling hoodies give you, they also provide a chance, like any clothing, to be original or show your true style and character. They come in all colours, sizes and styles.

Also, since I wear them so often, my hoodies have taken on a major role in my nostalgia department. I look at my maroon and navy blue striped hoodie and remember my 19th birthday, the day I got it as a gift from my girlfriend. I zip up my faded, beat up, brown sweater I wear to the gym and remember all the workouts with friends or peacefully alone. Or I pull my J-school hoodie over my head and flashbacks of the last four years explode in my mind.

So I am grateful for hoodies. I am grateful for their warmth and comfort. I am grateful that they allow me to express myself and let me remember my past and carry the good times around with me. And I am grateful they let me proudly wear this past right there on my chest. And because of all this, I don't mind sharing my chair with my hoodies one bit. 

#68- The Singing Bus Driver

It all sounds like the plot of a corny movie from the 1950s.

The happy-go-lucky bus driver who sings on the job is told to button it by city council after years of serenading public transit riders. Of course the public valiantly rallies around the driver with the golden pipes, flooding councillors with letters and emails demanding them to stop the ban.

The happy ending, though, may not be coming. Mayor Jim Watson seems adamant about turning down the driver’s; whose name is Yves Roy, volume.

While it heartens me to see how Ottawa is standing up for Roy, council's decision very sad.

I have had the pleasure of hearing Roy sing on many occasions and on dreary, cold days when riding the bus is the last thing you want to do (which happens often in an Ottawa winter), hearing the crooning driver has brightened my day.

Listening to the joy this man has for his job, for life, for music, is invigorating and I would bet you everything I have that no one could keep a smile off their face after his contagious good spirits hits you on a wave of knee-tapping song.

After seeing videos in the last week of bus drivers swearing at riders and illegally talking on a cell phone while driving, hearing Roy's optimism and passion restores my faith in city drivers and makes me more attentive to the smiles, nods and thank you’s I get every day from OC Transpo employees.

So I am grateful for Yves Roy, the singing bus driver. I am grateful for his joy in life that everyone should strive to achieve. I am grateful for the simple, but hugely important, gift he gives hundreds of people every day with his voice. I am grateful for everything he stands for and for the people who stand for him. So Jim Watson, if you happen to stumble across this post, please don't make Roy stop singing, write the last scene in this movie, make that happy ending.

#50- Stuffed Animals

One of the oldest and dearest things I own is my stuffed penguin. And I am not afraid to say that it resides in my bed every night.

I have had my stuffed animal, Pingu, since I was five years old and although the white of its belly may be a little less bright, and the baby penguin that was in its pouch has broken free of its string, it still feels more familiar and comforting than almost anything I have ever known.

I use Pingu, named after the popular TV personality and inspiration clay figure, as a head rest, a pillow extension, an arm warmer in the winter and most importantly a reminder of my childhood. Pingu has been with me through thick and thin, from the house I grew up in to the house I learned to love in Toronto. Pingu has been with me all the way to Ottawa. Pengu reminds me of growing up, of the first tooth I lost and the first time I rode a bike. The touch or the smell or the sight of a stuffed animal brings you whizzing back to those moments when an economic downturn meant no one would trade their Pokemon cards with you or your biggest responsibility was making sure your fort had enough snow balls to fend off the kids across the street.

I have been many places since then, and loved all the experiences I've managed to have. But sometimes, and not often, but sometimes I get homesick, or feel overwhelmed and unprepared for the road ahead, but if I'm near my bed at those moments (where Pingu takes up residence at most times of the day) I just squeeze him tight for a few seconds (after making sure no one is looking) and remember that I've climbed steeper hills on windier days and then get to work. 

So I am grateful for stuffed animals. I am grateful that they stay by your side as you grow and go through life. I am grateful that they remind you that you don't have to outgrow your child-like wonder and awe like your old, three speed bike. And I am grateful for the people who make stuffed animals. Stuffed animals are like time machines that transport you back to one of the greatest times of your life, so I am grateful for my time machine that I call Pingu.  

#27- Tooth Paste

I woke up this morning tired, as even Saturday morning sleep-ins can't seem to cure me from my late semester laziness. But what was nagging me more than my droopy eyelids was the unsavory taste in my mouth. What I needed was some tooth paste and fast.

After a good brush of the teeth, I was feeling more awake and ready to enjoy the nice, spring day in Ottawa and it's all thanks to tooth paste.

Besides making your mouth tingle with minty goodness, tooth paste does the dirty work to get you that shining smile. A smile can brighten up your day and it can sure brighten up everyone else's day because being happy is usually infectious. Tooth paste helps you to make sure those pearly whites you're flashing are nice and healthy.

And picking a tooth paste is a whole nother adventure. I can't count the number of times I have stood in front of a wall of tooth paste in a store trying to figure out which one I should get, but I like exploring and trying different things and in the end all the different kinds still have the same effect on me, clean teeth and a thumbs up from the dentist.

So I am grateful for tooth paste, the people that make it and for the nice, clean feeling it gives me to start the day and end it too. I am grateful that there is so much variety in tooth paste, but that in the end all the different brands get the job done. And I am grateful that there is one more thing out there that gives me a reason to smile every day. 

#21- 24 Hour Restaurants

Last night, at around midnight, all my stomach could think about was getting a burger. And, as often happens, my stomach demanded my brain think the same way.

So I hightailed it to the McDonald's close to a friend’s house, got the coveted burger and was very satisfied.

That whole scene happens more often than it probably should, as it pays a heavy toll on both my fitness and my wallet, but it also goes to show how fortunate I am to have access to restaurants that run all day and night.

Living in Ottawa, a relatively big city, I am lucky enough to have these restaurants, be able to get to them and be able to get food. To have the opportunity to have food when ever I get hungry is something that I am so fortunate to have, but having an abundance of options is even greater.

So I am grateful for 24 hour restaurants, the availability of food, the friends I can eat with, the people who run these restaurants and the people who make my food. It makes me realize how fortunate I am, 24 hours a day.

#18- Glass Warming

The first few days of spring have been a little chilly in Ottawa. That is to say they have been below freezing most of the time.

The upside to that it has been sunny most of the time too and that means I have managed to stay nice and warm thanks to trusty, glass windows.

When the sun goes through the glass and into my house, or my school or where ever I am, it becomes the nice warming rays of late spring and not the cold, teasing sunshine of mid winter. 

So I can sit in a bus shelter behind the glass and feel the sun on my face while still breathing in some fresh air and pretend I am sitting on a dock somewhere.

I can also find that little patch of sun coming in through my window and onto my bed, curl up like a cat and read a good book. 

So I am grateful for the way glass warms up the rays of the sun. I am grateful for the nice hint of warmth it allows me to enjoy as I wait for the bus or read the paper in the atrium between classes. And I am grateful that the glass in this city is trying to let spring in, even if the weather isn't quite ready to do the same.  

#12- The First No-Sweater Day of the Year

Nothing says spring is on its way like the first day of the year when it is warm enough to leave your sweater behind when you walk out the door.

Yesterday was that day in Ottawa and it was like a breath of fresh air.

Literally, I sat outside on a bench in my school's quad doing work and getting more fresh air than I have had in months because it was so nice out.

It was a great feeling after months of winter fatigue. The warm weather wasn't just melting away the snow and ice all around me, it was also melting away my homework brain freeze and I got a lot done, and I enjoyed it.

It was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I do like my sweaters, they keep me nice and warm when I need them too, but walking outside without one for the first time since October made me feel light and free, like I could do cartwheels and flips. In the end I decided against doing the acrobatics because of my less than admirable coordination and simply just walked around and enjoyed the weather.

So I am grateful for that day when I can throw off the metaphorical shackles of winter and walk around with no sweater on. The temperature may dip the next day, but I'll smile just the same because I know spring is just around the corner.