Premature Nostalgia

Words, words, words.

2014-04-03T11:52:00.000-04:00

I expect this will be a temporary hiatus. It always is. In the meantime, you can find me in the following places:

Instagram: @WynneLockhart. (To be honest, Instagram has kind of replaced personal blogging for me. At least for the time being.)

My travel blog, Go Further Travel, is updated every week.

My writing portfolio is updated every time someone pays me to write something.

Gone Down Under

2013-06-13T23:12:00.003-04:00

I'm spending the next 10 days in South Australia reporting on the Best Jobs in the World competition. Follow my adventure on Go Further Travel.

A Long December

2013-05-07T23:39:00.001-04:00

As we drove back to Toronto on Sunday, the Counting Crow's Long December came flooding through the speakers of Ramsey's car. We sang along, unabashedly, shamelessly, heart-fully.

"It has been a long December," Ramsey said.

"It really has," we agreed. "It really has."

The Secret Ingredient

2013-04-15T16:48:00.000-04:00

I've never thought of myself as much of a romantic. But when I was transcribing interviews this week, I kept getting coming back to this one quote from Mel (who was kind enough to let me interview her for one of my upcoming stories):

"Food is a huge tenant of how I express love, how I move socially. And when I care about someone, I want to cook for them and nourish them," she told me. "I really do believe in food that is grown with love. People who really care about our land and how they treat the environment and the growth of that food permeates through the food, to the dish that I make, to the person who eats is."

This? This is something of love.

Slowly, surely, I'm starting to remember, that yes, I too believe in something of love. And every morning, as I stand barefoot in the kitchen, measuring out the coffee grounds and eagerly waiting for the kettle to perk, I remember that I too, know what it means to be cared for and to care for someone.

As long as there's coffee and whiskey and pie in my life, there will be love.

Wandering Ways

2013-04-07T20:51:00.000-04:00

I've only been back in Toronto for a month and I'm already getting restless.

I doubt that's ever going to change. (More on my adventures in Honduras are now on my travel blog.)

Something of Love

2013-04-05T18:11:00.000-04:00

For nearly 12 seasons, I watched the top branches of the tree bloom and die and become reborn again.

From the window of the loft, it was the only visible sign of life outside, peeking carefully over the rooftops—the brick walls of our neighbour's house obstructed everything else from view. For three years, that tree was my only cue.

Dropping Brock off today, after our sanctioned time together was up, I paused for a moment in the doorway and looked out the window. Three seasons have passed since I last watched buds form on the branches of that tree.

It doesn't seem so long ago.

Against my better judgement, I'm starting to believe again. I'm starting to believe that yes, not only am I deserving of love, but I may just be capable of loving, too. I'm starting to place faith in impracticalities and impossibilities. I'm starting to remember that despite my pragmatic nature, it's the impulsive gut decisions that have always brought me the most happiness.

And above all, I have reason to believe that there's nothing that the perfect yellow vintage dress cannot solve. This, if nothing else, is something of love.

The Birthright

2013-03-20T21:27:00.004-04:00

This weekend adventure was so amazing that I actually love this picture, wrinkles and all, because it reminds me of the perfect day away. (More on the travel blog.)

The Best Years

2013-03-15T10:17:00.001-04:00

We were only one glass of wine in, but I was already drunk. That didn't make what I said any less true. They were words spoken in earnest.

"I really do feel like I'm living one of the best years of my life," I told Court. (These are the kind of words that settle warmly somewhere deep in my chest. Yet when I say them out loud, it's always in a hushed, almost guilty tone. If there's wood to knock on nearby, that's even better.)

After a summer of uncertainty, a fall of frantic work and manic behaviour, and a winter that was punctuated by excessive caffeine consumption and a kind of loneliness that I've never known before, I'm finally hitting my stride.

Although I was tempted to follow through on "Year of the Marriage for Money" as my 2013 resolution, I inadvertently settled on a much simpler mantra: working, working out and working it out. I'm focused and driven in a way that I haven't been in months. I'm being good to my body; running, lifting weights and even taking the time to brush my hair (most days, anyway). Most importantly, I'm reflecting on how it is that I ended up here and what it is that I want next. I take comfort in going to bed alone every night and even greater comfort in time spent in the company of friends. This is somehow what I always thought my life would be like.

And last month, for the first time, I truly took advantage of the "freelance" part of my job description by relocating my office to Honduras for a week to visit Sophie. (More on this to come.)

None of it is easy. But I'm happy to wake up every morning, knowing that the best is yet to come.

(Raw photo by the lovely Nettika during a day spent in Prince Edward County reporting for a Toronto Star freelance assignment. Because yes, my life is so awesome that I can legitimately play with baby lambs and call it work. These are truly the best days of my life.)

Dealbreakers

2013-02-14T11:05:00.003-05:00

So, this happened. (How could I possibly turn down the opportunity to go on the only legitimate blind date that I'll ever go on in my life? With my superior Googling abilities, it's unlikely that I'll ever again be set up with someone without knowing a singular thing about them beforehand--including what they look like.)

Here are the answers to the pre-date questionnaire that I had to fill out:

What do you do for fun? I own a collapsible hula hoop, a stunt kite, three different Scrabble boards and a well-used library card. I’m pretty physically active—I work out a lot and like to go running with my dog. I’m game for nearly any activity proposed to me; in the last year I went dog-sledding, trap shooting (it turns out that I’m awesome with a shotgun and pretty much a sniper), to circus school and ice-fishing. I occasionally organize and host trivia nights. However, much like every other twenty-something living in the Dundas & Ossington neighbourhood, I’m a big fan of eating at restaurants with low lighting, hanging out in coffee shops talking about my feelings, and listening to music. (Things I do not like: shopping. It’s the worst.)

How would you describe your style? I asked a friend who works in fashion and she said that my style is “an eclectic Anthropologie.” I have no idea what that means, but I tend to wear a lot of tailored dresses.

How would your family and friends describe your personality? I’m incredibly energetic, kind of silly and tend to approach my life as a bit of an experiment.

What would you do on your “dream date?” Something that I’ve never done before. Like, if a dude took me noodling for catfish, that would be pretty awesome. Seeing as we’re a bit far from Louisiana, I’d settle for someone cooking me dinner, though.

Describe your ideal partner: I pride myself on not having a “type,” or particulars that I’m looking for in a partner. I don’t want to limit myself. However, I like dudes who aren’t lazy, like their families (but aren’t holding on to the apron strings) and understand small-town community values. (That’s not to say that they have to be from a small town. They just have to understand why I frequently bake cookies for my neighbours and why that’s not weird.) If they know how to cook, that’s a bonus, because I really like eating.

What kind of relationship are you ultimately looking for? I’m still trying to figure that out. I guess I’m looking for the kind of relationship that involves a lot of high-fives and laughter.

Do you have any dealbreakers?

Anyone who doesn’t immediately agree with the statement that No Diggity is one of the greatest songs of all time.
People who immediately turn on their television upon entering their home or keep it on during a nice sit-down dinner. (I also hate it when people turn on the TV first thing in the morning. It annoys me.)
Bad tattoos. I like tattoos, but if you have the word BIZNATCH inked in huge gothic font across your abs, I’m probably not interested. (This happened once. It was unfortunate.)
Guys who make lots of gendered statements. (ie. “Girls love to shop.”)
Poor work ethic/lack of professionalism.
Habitual drug users. (I’m fine with drug use. But I’m not interested in dating someone who smokes pot every day or uses coke every weekend. Once in a while is acceptable.)
Shitty taste in music.
Hippies.

Anything else I should know?

Here are a couple of things about me that could be dealbreakers for potential dates:

I have no pop culture reference point. I watch television and movies, but immediately forget entire plot points as soon as the credits roll. Simpsons trivia enthusiasts hate having conversations with me.
I own a BlackBerry that is scotch-taped together and makes a fun rattling noise when you shake it. Technology-obsessed dudes usually find this really irritating.

Dear Dr. George Church

2013-01-23T19:22:00.000-05:00

Dear Dr. George Church,

I am a female who ovulates quite regularly (once a month, to be exact). As such, I feel like my uterus is probably a hospitable environment for a Neanderthal fetus. (I've always thought that if I were to ever give birth, I'd prefer my offspring to be furry in nature. I was originally thinking a puppy or kitten, but I guess science is neat, too.)

I am concerned about a "larger cranial size" exiting my birth canal, but I like a challenge.

Since it's probably illegal in Canada, can I give birth in an exotic locale?

Yours,

An Adventurous Female Human

Update: This postcard was featured on CBC Radio's "As It Happens" on January 24, 2013. To hear it being read totally deadpan, it's at the 12:00 minute mark.

2012: Year in Review

2013-01-01T14:48:00.001-05:00

Every time I try to think of a word or phrase that embodies what 2012 was for me, I keep coming back to the same one: heartache.

But it was this heartache that enabled me to remember the grace in small things. Moving into 2013, I'm grateful for the friends who supported me when I needed them most, and for strangers that are no longer strangers. Most of all, I'm grateful that I've been fortunate enough to have been loved--and to know what it means to love.

Here's to the good times in 2012:

January

I completed my first Year of the Physical Fitness Challenge activity when Jay took me dogsledding.

February

Chloé and I were not consumed by a giant mythological man-eating fish when we went ice-fishing. There were, however, other casualties.
Chloé and I also learned a very valuable lesson about why you should name your wireless networks appropriately.
Monique and Craig got married!

March

I was restless and underemployed, so Mike flew me out to Victoria. We took a road trip to Seattle and I explained to him (in great detail) why a werewolf would fall in love with a baby.
I baked cookies for strangers. Again. (Baking things for people would prove to be a predominant theme throughout 2012.)

April

I have no idea what happened in April. All I know is that I took this picture of my dog, was insanely busy with work and I cried to get out of jury duty. (No shame.)

May & June

Jay and I parted ways. I spent the next six weeks couch-surfing until I could find a place to live. But I successfully turned 28, friends by my side.

July

What didn't happen in July? Seriously. I danced in a barn. I went to circus school. I saw Snoop Dogg play in Cold Lake. I was spanked by groomsmen at my little cousin's wedding. I shot guns in barefeet and short shorts in the middle of the woods. I played beersbi in the mountains. I fell in love with Alberta all over again.

August

Ashleigh and Tim got married!
Back in Toronto, I settled into my new apartment.

September

After a work weekend in Vancouver, I ate every last feeling that I had during an amazing (and excessively indulgent in every sense of the word) week in Montréal. Best business trip ever.

October

I went to Japan, Thailand and Cambodia.

November

I spent the entire month winning Scrabble games, writing silly lists, drinking an excessive amount of coffee and talking to strangers.

December

Back in Alberta (my 16th flight of the year), I completed the Canada Fitness Test for the first time in 20 years.

I have yet to settle on a resolution for the new year. I was seriously considering making 2013 the "Year of Marriage," but my aunt has informed me that people will actually think I'm crazy if I actively pursue this goal. (Especially given my history of successfully completing New Year's resolutions.) So I've decided to focus on something much more realistic: Year of the Marriage for Money. It has a nice ring to it, no?

Ladyboys & Ladygirls

2012-12-27T16:45:00.002-05:00

More travel blog updates are now up:

In Thailand, I vomited blood and was accused of being a hooker. And yet, I was possibly the most sober tourist in the country.

In Cambodia, I witnessed a ladyboy beat another ladyboy with a giant fan.

Somewhere Better

2012-12-16T21:39:00.000-05:00

It’s easier here. I know exactly what’s expected of me.

As soon as the plane lands, it’s like exhaling. Whether I like it or not, I belong. I belong amongst the throngs of cowboy hats and army uniforms and riggers crowding the baggage carousel. These are the people that I understand. I belong beside my cousin in her car, laughing at her lewd jokes interlaced with anxieties, as we attempt to navigate the icy roads of the Anthony Henday and our late twenties. I belong to northern Alberta in a way that I’ll never belong to Toronto or any other place.

As soon as the plane lands, it’s like I never left.

And yet, last night, I found myself at a house in the St. Albert suburbs, trapped in silence by the most Torontonian aspects of my life. Here I was, amongst women in my peer group and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. They were friendly, lovely women, but I couldn’t relate to their discussions about mortgages and the rooms they have set aside for their future children; I couldn’t relate to their disposable income earmarked for jewelry purchased from a catalogue; I couldn’t even relate to their irrational fear of malaria. (It probably didn’t help that I’d met most of them once before, at my cousin’s wedding this summer—a wedding at which I may or may not have been publicly spanked by a groomsmen, grinded to Ginuwine’s Pony on the dance floor and actively avoided catching the bouquet.) Instead, I hovered awkwardly over the food, shoveling butter tarts and nacho dip into my face and patiently thumbing through the jewelry catalogue until it was time to go. (When we left, I gave my cousin-in-law a long hug and thanked her for inviting me. She’s a beautiful, strong woman—and she’s a lot of things that I will never be.)

I am constantly trying to reconcile where I come from with where I am.

I understand my Alberta life clearly, for better or for worse. I understand it for the monotony, for the pleasure in simplicity, for the comfort and familiarity of family and old friends. (As I write this, I’m sitting in front of my aunt’s fireplace, sipping sherry beside the Christmas tree while the dishwasher drones in the background. In more ways than one, it's a perfect Sunday evening.) I understand what it means to be content, but never satisfied.

I understand it as the only thing I knew for over 20 years of my life.

In Toronto, I’m still grappling to figure what I mean to people and how I ended up there. I’m struggling every day to pay my rent, to nurture my relationships, to make sure that I’m taking care of myself and pushing forward—in Toronto, I'm thriving on uncertainty.

And every day, I carry around a Ray Fenwick postcard in the back of my journal, tucked in neatly behind a picture my mom sent to me of me as a baby, when my hair was still naturally red and before I knew hurt of any kind.

“Somewhere Better,” it says. That’s what I’m working towards. Because no matter where I am, I know I can be somewhere better.

Empires and Crowns

2012-12-15T18:24:00.002-05:00

I am apparently the laziest. I'm underemployed and pictures from Japan are only just going up on the travel blog now.

I will be better, I promise.

This is Love.

2012-11-27T14:42:00.000-05:00

I've been feeling far too negative as of late, so I spent Sunday focusing on writing a list of things that make me genuinely happy:

1. Roadtrips

2. Hitting deadlines

3. Receiving handwritten mail

4. Coffee!!

5. Fresh-baked bread

6. Eavesdropping on teenage boys talking about girls

7. The first time wearing new clothes

8. Freshly-laundered sheets

9. New favourite songs

10. Scientific-sounding words

11. Hugs/hand-holding (and any other oxytocin-inducing physical human contact)

12. Puppies (and most other baby animals)

13. Orgasms

14. Board game nights/building puzzles

15. Swimming in Cold Lake (and most other bodies of water)

16. Sloths

17. Squeezing blackheads (not necessarily my own)

18. Reading books in the bathtub

19. Driving

20. Waking up in a sunny room

21. Favourite Scrabble words

22. Polka dots

23. Writing lists

24. Favourite mugs

25. Campfires

26. Dance parties

27. Potlucks

28. When someone cooks a special meal, just for me

29. Bike riding

30. Take-out food movie nights

31. Affectionate nicknames

32. The sound of shoes clicking in an empty hallway

33. Diving off the side of boats

34. Freckles/scars

35. Second dates

36. Capture the flag/hide-and-go-seek

37. The smell of skunk

38. Drinking from coconuts

39. Sharing pistachios

40. Fresh haircuts
41. Ridiculous Facebook conversation threads
42. Spontaneously planned hangover brunches
43. Walking around barefoot outside (and also in other places that one should not typically walk in bare feet, such as airports)
44. Stealing the neighbour's cat, Loki, and making him cuddle with me

The Best Hangover Cure

2012-11-19T15:42:00.002-05:00

"Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons; it is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth." -Walt Whitman

The Weight

2012-11-17T15:52:00.001-05:00

I'm carrying the heartache with me like we've never been apart.

(Every time I sit down to write this, I stop myself. It's too personal, it's too much for here. After nearly 14 years of doing this, of sharing the most banal aspects of my life on the Internet, I'd like to think that I've perfected the art of maintaining a personal blog without ever actually getting too personal or giving away too much. But it's hard lately, figuring out where that line is. I've become too cognizant of who is reading these words and more so, who will read into them. And in that way, even if I only write three sentences, it may still be too much. I'm forever starting over. And yet.)

The heartache is just that--a dull ache, at best. I don't have the time or energy for tears. It's aching for a lost friendship, for a life that I never felt completely comfortable with, for something that was probably never meant to be--or maybe it never really was. It's aching with the uncertainty of what I've done and what that means and what I don't have control over.

The heartache is following me, heavy on my heels as I tromp through the city, music in my ears, frustration in my fingertips, toque pulled low over my ears. I'm carrying it carefully, close to me, because I need this now. I need to know what this means because this is how I'm going to figure out what I want.

And in time, I'll be fine. I'm always fine. It's probably the thing that I like most about myself.

I knew that it would be like this.

Daily Affirmations

2012-11-14T20:24:00.002-05:00

I'm in a rut that I just can't seem to get out of. I need a hobby. Instead, I've been doing this:

(I have to admit, I'm surprised that it's taken me this long to reach this point.)

Gluttony

2012-11-04T16:04:00.004-05:00

If nothing else, at least I have my priorities straight.

(And it's true. I plan on spending the next two months eating my feelings.)

Thailand

2012-10-21T23:37:00.001-04:00

All updates from Thailand are being posted at Go a Little Further.

A Constant Comfort

2012-10-07T22:17:00.000-04:00

After two days of nonstop rain, cold June nights, soggy meals and a leaky tent, Alex Dodd and I finally accepted defeat. We would have to cut our Waterton camping trip short. The prospect of sleeping in a dry bed was too appealing to turn down. So piling our sodden blankets into my car, we started to make the long drive north, back to the comfort of Alex's Edmonton apartment by way of Banff.

Later that night, after I was too tired to drive anymore, Alex took the wheel, the lights of oncoming cars slipping fluidly by us in the dark. Sharp cold air flooded in through the window as he struggled to stay awake, exhaling cigar smoke into the Alberta summer night.

It was in that moment that I woke with a scream, terror gripping every ounce of my being. Alex didn't miss a beat. After less than two months of tolerating my nightmares, he had learned what to expect and what was expected of him. Barely looking up from the road, he soothed me back to sleep, despite his own exhaustion. "It's just a dream Jess. It's okay," he said, his voice calm and low. "Go back to sleep."

And before I slipped back into unconsciousness, lulled by Iron & Wine, I couldn't help but think of how much I felt cared for in that instant. I think it was in that moment that I loved Alex Dodd most.

Years later, when our relationship was still fresh, Jay and I went to a party at Alex's. Despite the potentially awkward social situation, the two bonded over an unlikely commonality--the management of my nightly neurosis: the sleepwalking, the sleeptalking and the occasional bouts of insomnia.

"She hasn't screamed yet," Jay told Alex proudly, somehow certain that he was sheltering me from my night terrors. Alex knew better. "Don't worry. She will," he said, laughing with certainty.

I smiled inwardly. This is it. This is the common bond that ties together the men who have loved me most--their ability to protect me from the demons that sit on my chest at night; the monsters that make me gasp for breath; the unsettling visions that cause me to cry out in the dark and wake up in a cold sweat. Really, what they have in common is their ability to protect me from myself.

In recent months, my night terrors have intensified. I find myself waking up shuddering in the corner or desperately trying to find the light switch. (My roommates, thankfully, sleep through my screams. Court, who graciously offered to let me share her bed during my month of homelessness, wasn't quite so lucky.)

Now, there's no one to lull me back to sleep. There's no one to assure me that I'm going to be okay. Now, in my most vulnerable moments, there's just myself. I don't mind. Because if nothing else, the nightmares are a constant. And there's something comforting in that.

Bon Voyage

2012-10-05T21:52:00.002-04:00

"Jessica, are you going to spend the next three weeks talking about your feelings? Because I'm not sure I knew that when I agreed to this trip."

-Mike, during our pre-trip conversation in which I talked more about my feelings than our itinerary.

The Magic Numbers

2012-09-24T19:44:00.001-04:00

I've been counting. I've been reciting the numbers, clinging to them, mouthing them to keep myself sane. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted. Or maybe it's because they're ludicrous to even me at this point.

Since I left Alberta on August 6, I've had 2 days off work. (The last day I took off was August 26; nearly a month ago.)

With roughly 5 contracts per week, I have been working an average of 10 to 12 hours per day.

Today marks my 29th day of work in a row.

And on day 25, I determined that 24 days of straight work in a row is my limit. I feel fine, but I'm making mistakes. I've broken glass doors, ripped my dress, forgotten to eat and misread train tickets. I've nearly missed deadlines, I've forgotten directions, and I've been self-condemned to solo late night Game of Thrones marathons and the subsequent night terrors. I haven't done laundry or bought groceries. I've been running to prevent myself from crying. (One is a better source of endorphins than the other.) I've been to Vancouver, back to Toronto again and now I'm on my way to Montréal.

But it's okay, because it's near the end and now I'm focusing on my favourite numbers of all:

I only have 1 more Go Global Expo to attend.

I only have 1 more article to write.

In 2 hours I'll be in Montréal.

In 7 days I get a day off. A month off, actually.

In 13 days I'll meet Mike in Tokyo.

And in 17 days, I will be in Thailand drinking buckets and this will all seem like someone else's life.

And then there's the other numbers: the unpaid invoices and my bank account balance. If working 12-hour days for two months straight affords me the chance to take a month off and travel with my best friend, I'll take it.

This is the life that I always wanted--up until day 25 anyway.

Reincarnated

2012-09-08T00:07:00.001-04:00

As the closing credits for Reincarnated's world premiere began to roll, I breathed out a sigh of contentment.

"Well, I feel like that kind of answers our question," I said to Nina.

"Does it, though?" she asked, skeptical.

The question is the one that has been plaguing us ever since April 20, when Snoop Dogg announced the dates of his North American tour: why the hell would Snoop Dogg visit the likes of Cold Lake, Alberta? (And further, why would he visit the Cold Lake Recycling Centre while there?)

"We could ask him," Nina suggested.

"It's not really related to the movie," I said, sheepish.

Nina, however, was not so shy. As her hand shot up, I felt my heart pounding in my chest. The moderator pointed to her and then Snoop Lion was looking directly at us, only four rows away.

"On your most recent tour, why did you choose to include small towns such as Cold Lake, Alberta and Beaumont, Texas? Did it have to do with this reincarnation?"

Snoop answered without hesitation. The tour destinations had been chosen deliberately, by him. He believes that it's important to perform in smaller communities because places like Cold Lake are often forgotten--and because so few other artists will go there.

"I want to play for the little people, too. I don't want to forget about the little people. I wanna play in jukebox joints for 30 people. I don't forget where I came from. And for those people, I want to bring happiness to them and their towns because they matter too."

It was so honest and earnest that I nearly cried tears of joy. It was totally worth the $40 we paid to attend the gala screening just to hear that response--and to witness Nina speak directly to Snoop.

(Oh, and the documentary was pretty good too.)

We've got a lot to be glad for.

2012-09-02T22:57:00.002-04:00

If I could attend a hootenanny every Friday night for the rest of my life, I'd die happy.