General Ramblings

Looking for Resurrection: The Season of Waiting

Hi. I guess it’s been awhile.

Toronto is cold, and raw, and full of a lot of trash and half-frozen dogshit and other things that have slowly been uncovered by the snow that’s melted away over the past month. The days are longer, and the light is welcome, but there’s no answering warmth, yet. Though, today, I did see a few pale green spikes pushing up from cold earth as I rode back from the train station.

I don’t know what I want to say, except that this month has been hard. It’s been hard, and it’s been long, and there have been plenty of periods of simply waiting. I felt often, this month, like I was standing in the shadows, watching other people be happy, and waiting.


I lost my job on March 4. The job that I loved so much, the people that I loved to work with daily, the place that I felt like I was truly being myself, making a difference, appreciated, abruptly cut me off in a layoff. It wasn’t my performance. It never is. It was budget and restructuring and the same old stuff. I miss it, and it’s been hard to pick myself back up after it, this time. I really miss what I guess I didn’t realize I had – a great workplace, a lot of really amazing coworkers, and a job I loved. Don’t ever forget to count your blessings!

I’ve had to find a new place to live. This apartment, the one I moved into last year from the ground floor, is being taken over by my landlord. I have found a new place – with the very amazing help of my parents – and that place will be amazing, but I am finding some moments of sadness as I begin to pack up my things, to understand that my home for four years was never, and is not going to be, mine anymore. I wrote two books here. I’ve had a lot of dreams and quiet times and serious talks and fights and simply life here. I will miss it – this place that was so hard to move into and has become a sanctuary for me.

But, as the minister reminded me in church this morning (I’m a Christmas and Easter Christian, I guess. I only go twice a year with my parents), this is the season of resurrection. And that’s not just about Jesus and the whole Easter story; that’s about everything. Spring, and the pale-green plant that was poking up on Harbord St. today, and the light returning. That’s hopeful. This will not be forever; it never is, and that’s fine. I am not disappointed that I’m in another season of waiting. I’m simply hoping that this time, it’s a short season.

I am told, by everyone – my friend in the coffee shop that I go to for a change of scenery; the taxi driver who seems a little less grim this ride; my friends on Facebook chat; my best friend as we sit in my living room over a glass of wine – that I likely just needed a change in my life, and this is the Universe’s way of telling me so. And then I think of resurrection – that maybe that flower was comfortable in its warm underground home, and didn’t really want to stretch and grow up towards the sunlight. But it had to, because that’s what happens to flowers. Even though it probably hurts, and it’s cold and uncomfortable right now. Because soon, it won’t be cold and raw anymore, and it’ll get to bloom because the conditions will be right.

I think I’m that reluctant flower. I don’t want to be forced out of something into something else. I want it to be my choice. But when I think of all the things that spurred the greatest successes in my life – they happened because I was initially reluctant to do the thing, and then something, or someone, forced me into doing it anyway. So. I guess I’m my own ridiculous metaphor, and I need to remember that, and all.

But. The season of waiting is hard. It’s lonely, and it’s cold, and it’s full of a lot of judgement and jealousy and anger and sadness, that I know I have to go through in order to end up at the other side. I’ve been through this before, and I know the script; I even know approximately how long these things take.

I don’t stop hoping for the resurrection in my own life, though. I wait for the lifeboats even when they’re desperate, hole-ridden inflatable rafts that only have one paddle. And I try to keep strong, keep no-nonsense, keep unemotional. I do that because in my way, I need to know that my friends and family will accept me anyway, even though I’m not who I thought I was, or who I saw myself being, or anything I was when I was in a comfortable, even boring place.

I know that they do. I know that in their hearts, they’re happy, even though right now it seems really weird to be happy when you’re trying to scrape together money by freelance and any odd jobs you can do while you compete with thousands of others in this city for coveted positions. They’re happy because they knew that when I get into a rut, I’m not happy, either.

So. I continue to wait. I continue to fight with feelings of failure, feelings of inadequacy, and feelings of discomfort. Because it won’t always be cold, and it won’t always be hard, and raw.

I’m just looking for the resurrection in my own life, and I know, like every other time, it will come again.



9 thoughts on “Looking for Resurrection: The Season of Waiting

  1. This really touched me. It is simple, honest, and beautiful. I love your metaphor of a reluctant flower. I have never been to Canada, but I am going to a French teachers conference in Saguenay, Quebec this summer, so I will be visiting your country for the first time. I hope to make it to Toronto one day as well. Question for you – Did you take those photos? They are really good!

  2. Wow, I saw your post on #womenslives, and it was so raw and honest. Your open heart is what we need more of. #womenslives through and through. blessings, Betty (hometownbetty, formerly theseoulofcyprus)

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