I’d do it in my house, and lie down in my bed in my boxers with the covers pulled over me. Probably listen to a playlist of Leonard Cohen’s albums from earliest to latest. If successful, it’d take three to five days for the police to find me, and it’d either be John or my work to call them. Maybe I’d set up some kind of trigger to call 911 after a day, so no one would have to deal with a gross decomposing body.

I have no idea if I’d leave a note. I can’t think of what I’d say.

Some people would be sad, but John would be most affected. It’d take him between one to three years to get over it. Everyone else would take less than a year.

John, Darren, Aaron, Louise, Rob and Mel, Pat and Jen, Trolley, my dad, possibly Joel, and maybe my uncle Joe would be at the funeral. Rana, Andrew and Alex, Jesse and Audra, Dan, Heather and Sergei, maybe even Frederic and Misun and my Tai Chi teacher, would be there too if they found out before the ceremony happened. My mom would be barred from attending. Any other family there would just be to make an appearance for my dad.

John would give the eulogy. I think he’d cry while delivering it, which would make me sad because I’ve never seen him cry before. Pat and maybe Aaron would want to say something too.

I’d let John decide what to do with my remains; whatever is easiest/cheapest for him to deal with. If I was cremated, I’d let him keep the ashes, but I’d allow him to give them to my dad if he chose to.

John would get almost everything in my estate; house, assets, RRSPs, life insurance policies, with the following exceptions:

• Darren would get Dolly, because he’s the one who would appreciate her most
• clothes would go to the Salvation Army
• all my computer equipment would go to Pat (aside from the Mac Mini and external drives, which would go to John for his home theatre system)
• Aaron would get my car and my Wacom tablet
• Frederic and Misun would get all my photographic prints (with the one exception below)
• Ryan would get my Canon Digital Rebel XT and 18-55mm lens
• Heather would get the rest of my photo gear
• My dad would get the painting Julie made of me
• My primary copy of the Tao Te Ching translated by Jonathan Star would go to Sam, my copy translated by Stephen Mitchell would go to the Tai Chi studio to be lent to anyone who wants to borrow it
• My copies of the Tao of Pooh, Te of Piglet, and illustrated copy of the Tao Te Ching by Martin Palmer, and Hoot would go to Bronwen
• My Mont Blanc Meisterstück Classique Rollerball, plant, and first copy of “Tomato Voice” would go to Julie
• My table tennis equipment and I Ching would go to Dan
• Jesse would get my ukulele
• My copies of Mind Over Mood and Reinventing Your Life would go to Jason
• My broadsword would go to Rob cause I bet he would think it was cool

And if my therapist ever found out, he would have wished that I continued my sessions.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | 2 comments
Post tags: suicide | Categories: Random

I have to write this because I can’t think of anything else nowadays, except for how hard it is to get out of bed in the morning.

I’ve been reading a book my therapist recommended to me a long time ago, the one that deals with lifetraps. In one of the first chapters, it goes through each lifetrap by first explaining a “core need”, which is something a child should have in order to thrive. It goes through examples on how we should have been raised, and how a healthy mind will grow from that. Then it explains how the lifetrap may develop if that core need isn’t met, by giving examples of destructive childhood environments.

And for almost every lifetrap in the book, I saw my own childhood in those examples of destructive environments, such as the one about “Self-esteem”:

Self-esteem is the feeling that we are worthwhile in our personal, social, and work lives. It comes from feeling loved and respected as a child in our family, by friends, and at school.

Ideally we would all have had childhoods that support our self-esteem. We would have felt loved and appreciated by our family, accepted by peers, and successful at school. We would have received praise and encouragement without excessive criticism or rejection.

But this may not have happened to you. Perhaps you had a parent or sibling who constantly criticized you, so that nothing you did was acceptable. You felt unlovable.

As an adult, you may feel insecure about certain aspects of your life.

When I was reading that, all I could think of was one specific incident from my childhood. I was young enough that my mom would bathe me, and she would do it in the en suite bathroom of the master bedroom. One day, she came to dry me off with a towel, and both the bathroom door and the bedroom curtains were open. I told her to close the door, because I was self-conscious about being seen naked by the neighbours across the street. I was really upset about it, and instead of walking two feet to close the door, she laughed and said, “You’re no Tom Cruise”, and left it open. From that point, I’ve had this irrepressible feeling that I’m never attractive enough for someone to even be interested in seeing me naked.

And that was just one example. My childhood was filled with so many such memories, each one branching into other lifetraps.

I’ve never wondered why I have self-esteem issues. I fucking hate how self-conscious I am, because I know the extent of that self-consciousness isn’t normal. I’ve struggled with issues like that my entire life, and I can trace everything back to my parents. It fills me with rage to know that they damaged me to the point where I feel so overwhelmed by my flaws that sometimes I’d rather be dead.

If I were ever to commit suicide — and at this point I feel like I can’t rule out the possibility of this anymore — I’d say that my parents would be 55% responsible¹, with my mom sharing more of that blame than my dad.

I hope she reads this one day. I hope my entire family reads this. I hope all my cousin’s moms read this, because they usually try to defend her. I want everyone to know that if I die by my own hand one day, I blame my mom more than anything else in the world. I want parents to know that they have a responsibility to their kids because they’re people too, that they have to treat them properly, and that I was an example of what happens when you don’t.

This is starting to sound like a suicide note, and it’s scaring me. Good thing I’ve always been a rational person, and I still recognize that suicide is an irrational decision for me at this moment. Sometimes, I watch suicide videos just to shock myself into realizing how final, irreversible, and horrible that decision is.

I’m at a lot better than where I was two years ago, before I went to therapy, but I’m still far from being fixed. I can admit that to myself now.

1. The other 45% being my own inability to deal with these things, but I attribute that to temperament, which is inborn and hence not their fault.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | No comment
Post tags: childhood, depression, memories, mother, parents, self-evaluation, suicide, therapy | Categories: Thoughts

I took these of Navid and Jess a little while back.

More recently, Navid called to let me know the childbirth went well, and now he has another adorable little half-Persian girl.

Rose is old enough to walk on her own now and give me kisses before she leaves.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | One comment
Post tags: photography, portrait | Categories: Misc, Random

Sure, I bared my soul. I surrendered. I gave her the songs I don’t share with just anyone. I told her how profoundly important, wonderful, and remarkable she was to me. I let her in like no one else before.

But there were parts of myself I never gave up.

It wasn’t because we hadn’t reached that level of trust. It was a way for me to protect myself. To feel as though she didn’t have all of me, so I wouldn’t be left as open and vulnerable when the end finally came.

I regret it now. Not because I think it would have changed anything¹, but because I wonder what it would have been like for someone to know me completely. To feel vulnerable and safe, all at once. Even knowing I’d be heartbroken eventually, it would have been worth it to share what I’ve always saved.

I’ve been keeping all my girlfriends at arms length to protect myself. I can’t go through life holding things back anymore, constantly worried someone’s going to hurt me. That’s always a risk, no matter how stable a relationship is.

I have to put myself out there. I have to make the first step, even if it means feeling uncomfortable, because the more you share, the more comfortable you become, the more you share, and so on.

I can only go forward now, as a wiser person, a stronger soul, a better lover.

I suppose I’m feeling nostalgic, or missing her, as is my wont when the seasons change.

1. Cause it wouldn’t have.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | 4 comments
Post tags: emotion, muse, self-evaluation, self-improvement | Categories: Thoughts

I’m free again after my training, and Dave takes me to his favourite restaurant in Nashua to meet up with Sid and his girlfriend. It’s a small, family-owned Mexican joint with bright colours and an appropriately accented waitress.

Over dinner, we compare our regional differences. I ask them what it means when someone says “A quarter of one” (12:45), because they don’t say “a quarter to one”. I ask them if they take their shoes off when they get in the house (sometimes, depending on the host), because I noticed no one did when I was in a house¹. I ask them if they have bubble tea (there’s one Vietnamese restaurant that serves it), because it’s all over Canada now. I tell them New York Fries serves poutine (What’s New York Fries?). I pull out some Canadian bills and show them the braille (Oooooooh). At one point, Sid calls me on my “eh”, contrasted from their “huh” used at the end of a sentence to emphasize a point.

Dave and I drive to downtown Manchester, the biggest city in New Hampshire, to a bar/café called Republic. Every month, Dave organizes the Collective, a group of creative people with a certain energy, and a void in their lives when it comes to someone with whom to discuss their endeavors on a practical, nonthreatening, philanthropic level.

I repeat a person’s name after being introduced to them, a trick I learned from the client specialist course I took in New Hampshire four years ago.

At one point, Ed asks us how we know each other, and Dave explains, along with a story:

When my sister and I were kids, we imagined what it would be like if we were more of us, so we needed an older sister and a younger brother to round out the sibling experience. As the oldest brother, I needed to know what having an older sister was like. And we also chose personalities to go with them. I think the older sister was a heavyset, strong girl with a determined, mothering tendency toward us. Her name was Daphne, and she was the type to play field hockey or lacrosse when she went to college had we known what that was back when we were kids. The younger brother would be a slender, artistic type that was a stylish and careful dresser; “metrosexual” was the term we’d have used, my sister commented recently, had we known the word. His name was Leland.

And when he met me yesterday, he thought, “That’s Leland!”. Now he’s wondering if he’s going to run into Daphne in the future.

After two hours of brilliant conversation and exchange of energy, we go our separate ways. These are my people, and I feel the need to start something similar in Ottawa.

I take a picture of us because I leave tomorrow, shortly after the end of the course, and won’t have a chance to see him again. I offer my house if he ever wants to get away and change up his frame of mind, and he returns the offer.

In 24 hours, I’ll be home sweet home again, but certainly wishing I had more time to talk, and relate, and feel as if there was another kindred soul in the world.

1. Not even in my hotel room, which I found very strange.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | No comment
Post tags: food, inspiration, interesting people, travel | Categories: Daily Life, Misc

The training is light and relaxed. I avoid wearing my name tag, but not the awkward round of introductions everyone has to make around the class. We finish early for the day, and I wonder if there’ll be a test at the end as part of my certification.

I vaguely remember that Dave Seah, my online mentor and personal coach, lives in New Hampshire. We met four years ago when I joined 9rules, and immediately developed a connection. His writing, ideas, and achievements have always inspired me, and he’s been the only person to make a guest post on my blog.

I call him, and as fate would have it, he lives 10 minutes from my hotel. For years, I’ve wondered if he had a New Hampshire accent, and I finally find out he speaks just like me.

Dave picks me up and whisks me away to Factory 99, an open artist studio converted from an old factory, to meet Sid. Sid is a photographer trying to turn his passion into his living. I see his photos, and pick his brain about off-camera flashes, exposure, post-processing, backdrops, and lighting for much longer than I should have. I can’t even explain how many questions he’s answered. I feel like I’ve been through a workshop, and leave with an urgency to try everything I’ve learned. It’s easy to see why Dave is such good friends with him, and the synergy continues.

From there we take a stroll to downtown and onto Main Street. It’s only sunset, and many stores are closed, a sign of the economic downturn. It’s a small city we’re in¹, and there’s almost nothing of note, save for the triangle manhole covers.

We make a quick stop at his house, nestled among evergreens and a cosy part of town, to check on a turkey he’s been slow cooking. I finally get a chance to see his studio in real life. I recognize the laptop he purchased for his project. I see his handwriting. His gun vault. His OLPC laptop. His cats. All the little details I’ve glimpsed from his photos are in front of me now.

We look for a place to have dinner, and decide on some Asian food. He takes us to a Korean/Japanese restaurant. I let him order everything for the both of us. Just from hearing him describe the unagi, I can tell he’s one of the few people who analyze and study and appreciate food the way I do.

Over our steaming bowls of rice and tea, we talk as if we’ve known each other our entire lives. I realize just how similar we are, how we’re at the same stage in life, both self-aware, emotionally intelligent, wondering the same things, figuring out the mysteries of life, and trying to sustain ourselves on what we love doing.

I don’t feel so alone anymore.

1. Compared to Ottawa, at least, at only one tenth the population

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | 8 comments
Post tags: food, inspiration, interesting people, travel, work | Categories: Daily Life, Events

I pack light. A single lens, and only carry-on baggage.

This plane takes me to a more central airport. Every seat has a USB plug, a power outlet, and a video screen that lets you choose what you want to watch. I make a note to fly Air Canada from now on.

In stark contrast, my connecting flight has two propellers.

The window seats are also the aisle seats.

I choose one by the propeller. The reflection in the shiny nose gives me a wide angle view of the plane itself. As it spins, the blades begin to ghost, and eventually disappear. It accelerates faster than any other plane I’ve been on, and leaves a loud hum and hiss that sustains itself until landing. I’m exhausted enough that I fall asleep shortly after take-off.

The captain is the same person who stores your luggage, goes over the safety instructions, and gets you to your destination.

The number of pilots is almost equal to the number of passengers. They leave the cockpit open, and I get a first hand look at what they do in the controls to get the plane to respond a certain way.

My home base is a hotel suite big enough that it has two HD TVs, a fridge, a microwave, and a living room separated from the bedroom. For the next four days and three nights, I won’t have the company of my cat or the comfort of my ukulele¹, but it feels good to be staying here long enough that I can hang up my clothes and settle in.

They leave a pouch on my blanket, which includes a sleep mask, ear plugs, and lavender linen spray. I make a note to stay at Crowne Plaza’s from now on.

I’m back in New Hampshire, and craving some famous New England surf to go along with my turf. For dinner, I order the filet mignon, which comes stuffed with Maine lobster, brie, spinach, and shiitake mushrooms, wrapped in smoked bacon, presented with dried cherry demi-glace, whipped potatoes, and asparagus. Cooked medium-rare, of course.

I’ve been in meetings all day, working nine hours after six hours of traveling and an early flight. Now the meetings are over. Everyone’s gone their separate ways, and I’m here alone.

1. It didn’t fit in my suitcase

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | 2 comments
Post tags: food, travel, work | Categories: Daily Life, Misc

Download audio file (baker-lake.mp3)

“Try to hold you in bed you shrug away instead oh I don’t know why.” I found this song during a recent transition, and it’s stayed with me since. It fits so many moods — contentment, sadness, lonliness, morning, mourning, and moulting.

In a way, I’m forcing myself grow and improve, and this scares me. In the book my therapist recommended, it explains “Change requires willingness to experience pain”, and I’m going through this exactly. I’m constantly stepping out of my comfort zone, and at this point, it’s much more trepidation than excitement. It’d be so much easier to fall into old mental habits, as unhealthy as they are.

On mornings like this, I sit in my living room with the curtains open. It makes me self-conscious to be sitting there with houses across the street getting a clear view of me in my PJs and mussed up hair. But it reminds me that someone else is out there. That the world is full of life, and vibrancy, and people just like me.

The days move quickly. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind if spring came early this year. I’ve had my fill of the snow by now. Maybe I’m just looking for a change, something that isn’t the same Canadian winter that made our embraces that much warmer, when we weren’t finding comfort in mutual mugs of hot tea and duck-down duvets.

I’ve been feeling better lately. About life in general, but myself as well. I guess you could say I’ve stopped blaming myself, or wondering what I did wrong.

Sometimes, you care for someone so much and so often that it becomes a habit, long after their gone, regardless of what you’ve been through. At that point, it’s only hard to let go because you don’t want to. When you lose your muse, you lose your inspiration, and for someone like me, the soul begins to wither.

The days are definitely easier than the nights. When I wake up between 3–5 am, all these thoughts keep flooding back, as if my subconscious is doing the thinking I’ve been trying to avoid. But when the sun is on my face, I’m left feeling serene and uncarved.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | 4 comments
Post tags: muse, reflection | Categories: Daily Life, Misc, Random

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© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | 4 comments
Post tags: reflection, self-evaluation, therapy | Categories: Thoughts

• Me, hearing John typing over the phone: You’re quite the touch-typist now. I remember when you were a two-finger typist.
• John: I still am. And I have to look at the keyboard. I guess I could type without looking but I never try.
• Me: Think of it as a vagina. Do you have to look at a vagina when you’re fingering it?
• John: The vagina only has one button.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2010. | 2 comments
Post tags: conversations, sex | Categories: Daily Life