Put out the light, and then put out the light. 

Mr Spock is dead. 

When I was young I hated myself. Sometimes so much so that sometimes I couldn’t get up to go to school. I would pretend to sleep until my mum left, and then I would lay on the couch and cry. Drifting in and out of sleep, I felt so alone. I had a handful of friends, but I couldn’t feel their friendship. I felt useless, worthless, disgusting. I felt like a lower life-form, and if I couldn’t stand myself, how could anyone else?

Every day at 1 o’clock, if I was awake, I would watch reruns of the original Star Trek. Immediately following was Star Trek: The Next Generation. I loved that the science portrayed was somewhat plausible for humans to create. I loved that everyone aboard the USS Enterprise was a family. My family. The women were smart, the aliens were equals, and the plot excited me in ways that I didn’t always understand. The idea that humans could evolve so far as to reach a peaceful, naive, state was immensely appealing to the little girl who felt constantly at war with herself. Star Trek made me happy. Oftentimes it was the only happiness I had in a day. I believe that subconsciously I bonded with the show because it illustrated the potential I didn’t know that I had. The fanciful voyage through space was a way for me to achieve my potential vicariously through the characters that I loved. 

Mr Spock is dead. 

Upon hearing this news I felt a plethora of emotions. Sadness, disbelief, thankfulness, more sadness. Leonard Nimoy’s death removed the shroud of immortality that i, and so many others, placed over our fictional families. In our minds, these icons do not age, they do not die- they can’t. We need them. The reality, of course, is that just like us, these titans are mortal. They are not immune to illness, accidents, or death. The problem with that is, is that with every person we lose, a piece of our safety net goes with them. There will come a day when they have all passed, and we are left stripped of the only thing we’ve come to identify with. 

  I am a giant boulder. In order to come out from the shadow and shake off the moss that I have collected, I tied balloons to myself. I floated along beautifully, aimlessly, until a huge crow descended upon me and popped one balloon. I lost some altitude, but I kept going. The crow made more frequent visits, and soon I was no longer a travelling boulder, but a damp, pathetic rock. Back where I started, silently collecting moss. 

For me and everyone like me, Star Trek was a source of emotional support, companionship, camaraderie, and hope. The hope that one day we will no longer be judged for our eccentricities, our lack of confidence, our uncool interests. Most importantly, the hope that some day we will find the value in ourselves- even if we are the only ones who see it. 

Leonard Nimoy spoke often of self-acceptance, being happy with what one has, and to appreciate the life you’ve been given. It is up to all of us now to perpetuate his optimism, to be kind to others, to enjoy our lives without fear of how others perceive us. We are all made of the same star dust, we are all valuable, and if we all pull together, we can crew this ship into the future with confidence and wisdom. We are apart of something so much bigger than we realise, but every life inside of that matters, and has an impact on the way the future will be lived. 

I am immensely heart broken over the loss of Leonard Nimoy. He made being smart cool, and gave me some of the best life advice I’ve ever been given. Goodnight to the adopted grandpa of so many wandering souls. We love you, and we will forever hold you in our hearts.


It’s not you…(just kidding, it’s totally you.)

I don’t normally associate the word home with Victoria. I rarely see eye to eye with this city and the image its residents try to project. I am not hip, I am not liberal, and I don’t eat quinoa. I like driving trucks, I believe in the pipeline (Fucking sue me), and I don’t wear anything ironically. I could go on for hours about all of the reasons I feel as though I don’t belong here, but I digress.

However, on days like today, the beauty of this incredible city reminds me how invariably lucky I am to live here.
Today was my perfect day. Cloudy without raining, windy but still pleasant, colourful clouds painted like chunky brushstrokes across the sky. We took the girls into the city and then beyond, into the Cook Street Village. We walked through trees, over moss, tromped over dirt trails. Ate lunch at our favourite restaurant, and went to the girl’s favourite park. We played until our cheeks were rosy and our fingers needed a tea to warm up. We meandered back towards the downtown, and I decided to take photos of all of the beauty that the city has to offer.
Cherry blossoms, moss covered stone work, breathtaking architecture. Some of the photos turned out, others were meant only to be remembered in the mind’s eye. The smells of the journey were incredible, and if there’s an app for capturing scent that I don’t yet know about, please let me know!

The moral of this little story is this: the attitude of a select group of people does not make a city. Just because I may not fit in socially, does not mean that I can’t be enamoured with the beauty of this amazing little city, my incredible little island home. I don’t need to open my mouth, I needn’t engage people in mindless arguments over private beliefs, I need only take a deep breath, and drink in the majesty of the mountains pressed against the ocean. I live a three hour drive from a ski resort, and a three hour drive from a rain forest. I can wear flip flops every day of the year, and I live across the street from a forest that is home to wild animals, and loud waterfalls. My children are experiencing a lifestyle that is native only to this island, nowhere else can they experience so many different landscapes in one city. We swim in glacial pools in summer, go hiking in winter, and go to the beach whenever we damn well please.

I love this city.

I could care less about having a friend here, I need only to smell the ocean every morning from my doorstep to feel at peace with who I am, and where I live. Although I may never be able to call this my home, I can say with certainty that a piece of my heart will always remain here.

Tomorrow, when faced with dropping my child off at school and being forced to interact with people I feel no connection to, please remind me to first re-read this post, and then take myself for a walk in the woods. I’m not sorry for being anti-social, but I am sorry that I sometimes let that social anxiety cloud my ability to appreciate where I am and what I have.

Soundtrack of the day?

Smoke + Mirrors, the new album by Imagine Dragons