I watched a hockey game last night. No, not the English kind with curved sticks, grass and thick knees. The other kind, the Canadian kind with the scraping of skates on ice and the thump of bodies against the rink boards. Where an organ – an organ – gets the crowds going and the players drip sweat off their faces while the fans are bundled up, their breath visible in the cold of the arena.

Sometimes I feel a little schizophrenic, without meaning any disrespect to anyone reading this. I am so comfortable in an English setting, whether it be cycling over to the (free) National Gallery in London, placing a “flutter” at Ascot racecourse where I’m surrounded by men in top hats and glammed-up women in fascinators, or having a picnic with friends and their dogs on slightly-wet grass, an umbrella in one hand and tea that’s gone cold in the other. Discussing the weather is always on the agenda whether having lunch with your best friend or buying tomatoes at a market stall.

Yet the first twenty-five or so years of my life were spent here in Canada. I am Canadian in my soul. A conflicted one, to be sure. I don’t believe I could ever cope with a Montreal winter where the temperature can plummet to -25 for stretches of time, and the spring is almost non-existent compared to an endless, lovely English one (except this year. I think Oscar Wilde’s Selfish Giant is up to something.) 

Of course I’m a Canadian who has been influenced by time lived in France, Costa Rica and the UK; a Canadian who gave birth in Spanish, wrote a thesis in French and works with words in English. I’m not a normal Canadian, but in a country made up of people with global stories, this doesn’t make me unique. 

                                    

I returned to Canada last Wednesday to begin yet another experimental chapter. It’s a four-hour drive from Maine to Montreal, and I chose to spend the first ninety minutes of the drive without music, without radio, not even an audio book. I just looked in contented awe at the expanse of leafless trees, jagged peaks and snowmelt-fed rivers running next to the highway, their water surging over boulders and threatening the banks. 

Crossing the Samuel de Champlain bridge into Montreal proper, my phone ran out of juice. Of course it died in the middle of a three-lane bridge, my charger buried in my suitcase, a vague idea of where I was headed and no means to contact the friends who were storing my two suitcases and the large piano keyboard I’d borrowed back from my sister. That’s when I realised that my resilience, which had been flattened by the pandemic, was seeping back into me thanks to travel, unforeseen experiences and connections with interesting people. Here I was, in a conundrum, and I laughed.

My new apartment, which I did find without a hitch, is expansive and bright and … owned by a male millennial. An engineering one, to boot. The sheets are red, the duvet cover black. There is only short hanging space in the closet. There’s an iron but no ironing board. His food must arrive by delivery bike on the days he doesn’t dine out as there is no spatula, sieve, serrated knife or teaspoons. No large bowls for serving nor small ones for nuts and olives. Four plates, four bowls, a few mugs but no means to blend and, worse, no kettle to make tea. 

But there is a smart projector connected to a firestick, an uber-slick bathroom and an intrusive Alexa who with just a few words will turn lights on and off, select music and manage my viewing pleasure.

She now lives unplugged and wrapped in a towel at the back of one of the kitchen drawers. I don’t trust Jeff Bezos. 

To return to last night’s hockey game, which I watched on tv with some friends. This was first-round playoffs, a serious game, between the Tampa Bay Lightning and the Toronto Maple Leafs. My home team, even if they haven’t won the Stanley Cup since the year my brother was born well over half a century ago. 

I watched hockey as a teenager, knew all the Leaf players’ names although never played it myself. Girls didn’t in the 1970s. Last night was an unexpected encounter with a game I knew well in the past. And in this day of overly-curated perfection, I enjoyed the toughness, the gritty emotions, even the gloves-off fights. (And since you asked, yes, the Leafs won.)

I feel aware of who I am and how I am, even if I don’t know where I will be in six months’ time. I try to bring that eyes-wide attitude to this year of existential ... discovery. I overthink things – not a surprising statement to those who know me – yet can gaze outwards and see how fortunate I am to have this time to explore myself, to search for challenging opportunities and I feel immense gratitude for my friends on almost all the continents (can I count that connection I felt with a gorgeous king penguin in Antarctica?)

Onward and upward, then. Outside, the sky is grey and the rain hasn’t stopped falling for at least twelve hours, inside the music plays and a book on the sofa calls me. A perfect Sunday. 

I’ve been cusping for the last five weeks. I’m not sure if this is actually a word, but it describes what I imagine is the pull one feels when born “on the cusp” of a star sign. I’m no longer “back there”, but nor have I “moved on.” I’m in-between, at the end of my four months in Costa Rica but not yet beginning my next domicile in Montreal.

I met Fiona in California on March 11th for a week-long road trip. Yesterday, I flew into Toronto from Chicago after seeing Mads, and in between I spent a week in Mexico, as per my last post, as well as returned to Costa Rica to pack up. Tomorrow I drive to Montreal, but I don’t stay there quite yet. I’ve got a quick trip into Maine before I settle into my next longer-term stay in Montreal.

In this cusp time, in the past five weeks that is, I have slept in ten different beds (yes, I counted them), and will sleep in two other beds, in two different countries, before I get to my 13th bed since March 11th next Wednesday in Montreal.

It is a little wearying, I won’t deny it. Yet it is almost always tinged with an excitement, a curiosity as to what might happen, what I might see, or think, or experience. These adventures are often little - an evening at Second City comedy in Chicago, a vintage fair in Toronto, the elephant seal colony in California, avocado toast for breakfast on my own in a delightfully-friendly restaurant in Lincoln Park - but the ever-changing nature of my life makes small events like these that much more meaningful.

I once read that it is the repetitive nature of our lives, of our schedules, that makes life feel as though it is whizzing by so much quicker as we age; unlike those years of wonder as a child, when so much was new and ever-changing that a week took forever.

Before I left Chicago, Mads read my cards. I think my interesting year is going to get more interesting, if we have interpreted the cards well. I’ll keep you posted.

The evening that Mads and I went to Second City was fabulous. It's classic Chicago entertainment and many now-famous celebrities began their comedic career here: Alan Alda, Bill Murray, Catherine O’Hara, John Belushi, Mike Myers, Steve Carell, Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, the list is endless! But more than the comedy, we met up with long-time friends from Cayman and four of their friends, some of whom I had met before. The camaraderie was lovely. Out on an evening in a big city, the light slowly sinking into night, the excitement of a pub beforehand, lots of chit-chat, then the thrill of great comedy in an established venue.

It underlined the importance of community to me. Community can be fleeting – a quick meet up with friends who live far away to share an evening together. Or catching up with neighbours from the street. It’s never life on repeat, there are always new stories. Spending time with other people means not controlling the conversation, being open to jinks in discussion and having unexpected laughs. I like it. I’d like more of that, please.

I feel that I am becoming more and more present every day in my life. Finishing up the book that I wrote with Fiona’s life prompts has helped reinforce that I am a writer. My words resonate, and I am endlessly surprised when I reread what I wrote months before. So my purpose is less about what I want to do to make the world a more beautiful place, or where I want to live, but rather how can I use words to reach other people? To emotionally connect or at least affect others, and perhaps advance causes by writing stories that resonate. 

If I can figure that out, I suspect I will feel multi-dimensional.

Any tips or suggestions always welcome. A journey is started with a single step.

Best Birthday card EVER!

Blog post Part B - The Modern Elder Academy

How do you take a week of magic and wisdom and distil it down to an essence that makes sense to anyone who wasn’t there? The answer is that you don’t. Or at least I don’t, or won’t, or maybe I will later. Just not yet.

Let me tell you how beautiful it was down in Baja California, though. Magical. The landscapes, the cacti, the flowering bougainvillea and crazy goats. Hot during the day, tempered with ocean breezes, then chilly enough for a fleece when out for my pre-sunrise runs through the desert hills. I could taste salt in the air, feel an energy from the whales migrating north.

One day,  I’d like to watch wild lightning illuminate the desert.

The workshop, entitled “Reframing Retirement: Thriving in Your Next Phase of Life”, challenged the group of us in a myriad of ways, stripping away habits and mindsets, and allowing us new ways to consider this next phase of our lives. Transition built on curiosity.

I remember the trepidation I felt as I took my first steps through the beautiful buildings and courtyards, past pools and colourfully tiled sitting nooks, and out to the patio overlooking the Pacific Ocean. A new moon hung low in the sky, a thin-lipped smile, with both Venus and Jupiter lining up above. It felt auspicious, and my discomfort eased as margaritas were mixed and conversations began. By the end of the week, I was in the hot tub with a bevy of new friends, celebrating wonderful memories of deep exploration, and feeling an excitement for whatever comes next. 

In between those two bookends, I had one kick-ass birthday party!

I had signed up for the workshop as part of my year of discovery, but it also coincided with my birthday, which I felt was an excellent way to celebrate and also escape it. My plan was to slide into the next decade without a fuss. Avoidance on a grand scale. I mean, I’m comfortable in my skin but was disconcerted at the number. So I told no one. 

It turns out that it’s not easy to keep secrets around there. Which in the end was great. After days of doing communal exercises with an amazing eclectic cohort of people, I learned, and saw by example, that life gets better with age. It was the perfect environment to celebrate turning 60.

Close your eyes and picture an airy, light-filled kitchen with an expansive island, colourful tiles and dance music blasting from the speaker. Insert a conga line, flower crowns and a tier of birthday bread. Nice image, isn’t it? Amazingly, two of us had birthdays that day, and we were celebrated in style. 

I learned that March 24^th is national cocktail day, national chocolate-covered raisin day (who decides this, anyway?) and national cheesesteak day. In addition, it is the day to celebrate achievers, flatmates and introverts (triple whammy for those who are all three) as well as being the Right to Truth day and World Tuberculous day. How fun is that?

During the joyous festivities, we received handmade birthday cards with poems written inside. I feel somewhat reluctant to include it here - as though I’m divulging secret details of a personal ritual - but the joy and excitement from that day is still within me and I want to share it. 

So here you are:

Amber-eyed warrior

Defender of girls

Seeker of knowledge

under tangled red curls.

In just a few days

you’ve shown us true grace.

Sharing your heart

has enlightened our space.

Happy birthday, dear Judy

We wish you the best.

With your wisdom and

spirit –

you’ve got the rest.

Enjoy the journey.

 

The stars aligned such that my road trip with Fiona and this workshop dovetailed together in a way that felt auspicious. And now, after a week that exceeded my expectations, I know that something shifted within me. I'm still my essential self, and yet ... more. Check out Modern Elder Academy if you think it may resonate with you. 

A suggestion – watch “The Boy, the mole, the fox and the horse”. It's the animated short that won an Oscar this year. Which I realise doesn’t mean it's fantastic. Except that it is.

Blog Post Part A – Visits with daughters

There’s been a gap in our one-sided conversation! It’s odd how I consider it a conversation given I am the only one talking, but I get enough feedback through email, calls and what’s app to feel a flow. 

I’ve been absent because of time spent with my daughters. First, Mads and her partner here on a quick visit to Costa Rica, and then my road trip with Fiona in central California over her spring break just a week or so ago.

Of course, what happens on a road trip stays on the road trip, but there were highlights.

Monterey Aquarium was particularly awesome, and I do mean that we were awed. Fiona's marine knowledge is deep and enlightening. We were there the whole day, with my nephew John, and were never bored or twitchy or fed-up with the multitudes of children (except maybe by the penguins where they were particularly excited but that’s understandable). The jellies were ethereal, the richness of the seascapes fantastic and the sardine schools mesmerising (we did find that little guy swimming against the masses – there’s always one).

We stuck to the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH for those in the know) when we could, taking turns driving. It was great fun to see the many faces of California, and the elephant seal colony just above Cambria was magnificent in spite of the torrential rain and gale force winds. This was during one of those weeks that much of California was living with windstorms or floods or simply closed. At times, I was wearing all of my cooler weather clothing.

As a grand finale, and to celebrate my upcoming birthday, Fiona and I got belly button piercings in San Francisco. It felt right. Well, not the piercing, that was a little uncomfortable, but I am content. No, you won’t see a photo. Who are you kidding? Doing it with a gorgeous 24-year old? That’s not going to happen. We made the decision while at dinner, and yes, there were negronis involved, but we had to wait until the cold light of day to do the deed, so this wasn’t as crazy as getting on a plane to elope on New Year’s Day. Oh, right, I did that, too. Anyway, it’s something I’ve always considered and Fiona held me to my commitment the following day. I must give a shout-out to my cousin Sarah, who even though a year older also sports jewellery in her navel. But of course she has always demonstrated great common sense and been a role model to me, particularly when cavorting in the pubs of northern England at the tender age of fourteen. 

PS (to the post below) ...and then I have one of those magical few days which begins with a Saturday night performance of Jesus Christ Superstar at the Melico Salazar theatre, which I go to with my goddaughter and her mother after a delicious meal in the newly-expanded dining district of Barrio Escalante. We had the record (the vinyl, the LP) of it when I was younger, and I remembered the tunes even though this show was a hip hop version in Spanish.  

The next day, I go to see Everything Everywhere All at Once at the Cine Magaly with another friend. A mid-afternoon treat that left us discussing the ways and means of film-making, and martial arts and whether we had really enjoyed the film or were just glad to have seen it.

When this was topped off with a last-minute invitation to join three other friends for dinner at a Tapas place right around the corner from where I am based...well, what's a person to think? I'm finding some of the depth in Costa Rica that I had missed.

I am feeling inspired creatively and satisfied with life. Just goes to show that, for me at least, it's community and connection that gives structure and inspiration to life.

Costa Rica is a beautiful country. It is lush and green and colourful, filled with volcanoes and beaches and forests, and boasting a climate that is just about perfect. Over my few months here I have travelled to the Pacific Ocean several times, visited waterfalls, hiked remote mountains and valleys, enjoyed delightful meals at friends’ houses in the central valley and ventured into San José for some culture. 

But I’m still unsettled. 

Of course, that's what this year is about. To shake things up, to do things that don’t work. But it’s all coming down to purpose. I have none, in the bigger sense. This isn’t a geographical issue, I realise. Nor is it from a lack of support from my great friends here. This is an internal situation that was present in London but seems exacerbated here with the lack of meaningful opportunities. I either can’t find them or I’m too reticent (read awkward) to follow up on some of the vague suggestions I receive.

I’m not sure I prepared myself for arriving here in the same way that I did for Montreal, or at least I haven’t been able to find the same sort of community engagement here as I did there. Maybe it's a language issue or an over-reliance on friends. I had far fewer in Montreal.

I was 30 when I moved to Costa Rica, newly-married with no children. An adult but still pliable, and life was about discovery. Another language? Absolutely. A new culture? How exciting. Bars on all the windows? Frogs in the shower? Traffic mayhem? Just part of the adventure. Life was filled with a wonder similar to that of childhood, and the learning curve was just as steep and stimulating.

Fast forward 30 years and here I am again. Perhaps not quite as physically pliable (in spite of my increasing running mileage) but I’m emotionally stronger, more aware, my opinions have better sources. I have steadfast values and there are certain lifestyle choices that are important to me. In other words, I am a wiser, more experienced person.

So I’m not sure why I am perplexed to find myself struggling here. I can’t return to that idyllic life I once enjoyed here. I never expected to. Everything has changed, including the country, but more importantly I am not the person that I was back in the 90s. 

My four years in Escazú (out of the almost full decade we lived here) were some of my happiest, and came from a lovely arrangement of family, friends, dogs, work and activities. That's all changed now. The girls are independent, I have no husband, my work in the wine world has finished. I don’t even have a dog anymore. I do still have friends, of course, fabulous ones, and I can come up with adventures without too much effort. But it’s not enough, I’m not satisfied. I have been told that I am quite hard on myself, which may be, but I’m still determined to find work or projects or opportunities that invigorate me.

With this constant questioning and pondering going on, I was excited to hear about a retreat in Baja California that focuses on “reframing retirement”. It’s all about thriving in the next phase of life (now that we’re all living so long, dios quiere), and relates so succinctly with my decision to do this year of self-exploration that it felt tailor-made for me. I've signed up. It’s a week in later March, and fortuitously engulfs my birthday. 

The preparatory work is thought-provoking, and one thing that came up is the idea of switching the word ‘purpose' from being a noun, an object to pursue and obtain, to a verb, so that it becomes a lifestyle. I want to live a more authentic, engaged, creative and passionate life. Honestly, who wouldn’t? So I am looking forward to the exploration.

Do any of you know the story of Miss Rumpius? It's a book I read to the girls all those years ago. We called her the Lupin Lady. Her grandfather, a clockmaker and painter, tells her that the third thing she must do, after traveling the world and living by the sea (both things that I have done), is to do something to make the world more beautiful. That, I feel, is what I’m looking to do. And it can be done in many ways through engagement, enrichment, volunteering, supporting people, being present when with others. These are activities that can make the world more beautiful and lead to a more meaningful life.

So that’s where I am now. Still at odds with the long stretches of time here which feel too solitary, but focusing on the here and now. The cold of Montreal will soon be back with me, so I enjoy the wind in the trees, identify new birds, and go for runs up hills and past rural scenes. The blossoms are spectacular. The markets divine. 

The house where we lived when Mads was born. We revisited last week.

A realisation and three anecdotes

There was far too much reportage in my last two posts. Apologies. It can be difficult not to when I go on exciting, physical adventures! But now, back to emotional discoveries and meaningful stories.

I realise that Community, with a capital C, isn’t something I can just create. I will find it as I join in, find work, share activities with people...and go to birthday parties. I was at a delightful one this weekend, two nights and a full day at the beach. Yet, I feel unsettled with people I don’t know. It’s flotsam from the many months alone during the pandemic. 

New people can make me anxious, but equally I sense that my untethered year might be disconcerting for them. It’s exotic and unusual, and I don’t fit into a definable slot. So when asked where I’m from or where I live, a certain wariness (or is it weariness?) comes over me. How much do they want to know? Are they really interested or is it out of their comfort zone? 

Rather than spin out my uncommon adventure, I tend to downplay it, figuring people don’t want to hear of my existential questions. But mulling it over now, I think I’m selling myself short. Things out of the ordinary are grist for the story-making mill and I should be celebrating this. Am I concerned that it will sound like bragging? I’ll blame that on my British heritage and move on. 

So here’s my resolution: I am going to take the bolshiness from my misspent youth and combine it with the awareness, experience and wisdom I have now. 

It’s a new year’s resolution made one month before the start of spring. Why not?

Nature’s rumbling tummy

We had an earthquake in the wee hours of Friday night. It measured 5.2 on the Richter Scale, enough to wake me from deep sleep. Weirdly enough, I enjoy them. Costa Rica has lots of shakes, averaging 350 a month, but most are just tremors, often unnoticeable. Friday’s was a middling one; nothing to worry about. The room shook, I was shifted from side to side in my bed for just a few moments, then it subsided. 

I lay awake for a while, initially wondering if it would continue and then, when it didn’t, my thoughts turned to Turkey and Syria, who have just had two more earthquakes. I felt a sense of guilt in my comfortable bed, listening to the howling wind outside. I was reminded to be grateful. I know, it’s an over-used sentiment these days, it makes some people roll their eyes. A number of years ago, I tried writing five things down in a little notebook by my bed. Five things that I was grateful for from that day. It didn’t appear to do anything. Perhaps I’m late to enlightenment, but it feels more real now. I’m older, I’ve seen more of life’s challenges. I do have much to be grateful for, not least this travel opportunity. But also friends, family, physical health, financial stability, the nature surrounding me. Birds. Homemade cake. My girls!

Addendum

The winds have been so strong throughout Costa Rica that no aviation fuel could be landed at the docks in Limon – the country was 24 hours shy of running out before the winds subsided. Can you imagine if the planes couldn’t be refueled after disgorging all the tourists? Chaos. I bet this sort of things goes on behind the scenes in countries around the world, and we never learn about it.

Unexpected moves, of a different kind

I had a 30-year old flirting with me at the beach birthday party on Sunday which, once I got past my astonishment and realised what he was doing, amused me to no end. It wasn’t at all inappropriate, he’s an adult after all, but oh my goodness, so young. The smooth skin, the tattoo on his arm, the wide-eyes and sideways glances! I am not a Cougar, there will be no follow-up on his insinuated suggestions, but it was fun. Flirting is so enjoyable, perhaps I’ll make it my new past time.

Miaow!

And yet another earth-shaking event

On the drive back from the beach in Tomatina, Justine’s feisty red subaru, we were stopped halfway up a curving hill on the two-lane highway parallel to the Pacific Ocean. I was only a dozen cars back, so I could see there was some sort of activity going on. A truck backed up, a man got out. A few other men milled around. Road works, I assumed, turning off the ignition and gazing at the forest on both sides of me. I looked over again, the man was climbing back into the pick-up. Excellent, I thought, let’s go. But the truck only moved forward a few dozen metres before stopping again. Another man appeared and ran, properly ran, towards the pick-up truck, with a real sense of urgency. Two seconds later, a massive tree crashed down across the road. Leaves flew everywhere. Branches snapped. I felt the forest become silent.

It was so unexpected. 

Then one man appeared with a chainsaw, others came with machetes and brooms. It was a road crew. This was an organised act. I watched, amused, as they tidied up. It took a while. For me this was such a Costa Rican experience, and a reminder of the importance of letting go. Shit happens. Unexpected delays occur. Enjoy the interruption (whilst acknowledging that it can be difficult for the chronically late or the people juggling multiple jobs and those who deem themselves too important to be inconvenienced – the same ones who exhale impatiently while in line – but they did pause to let an ambulance and a fire truck through).

So an add-on to my resolution from the first section: I want life to interrupt me, I don’t need to control every moment.  I may be rootless (sin domicilio fijo), but I’m grounded.