How To Say Hello.

I'm sitting in a downtown Starbucks typing away. There's something about the ongoing bustle that makes me work harder, listen deeper and forces me to focus on the tasks at hand. It's social and anti-social, it reminds me of the power of city living. Most of my work involves timing and ideas, and it's important to be able to throw that piece of spaghetti at the wall at any time. Just to see if it sticks.

My table mate, a shorter elegant man, looks over at me as I plug my computer in. He's wearing a pressed white and blue checkered shirt and his hair is grey in that regal way that suits older gentleman. He struggles to find words, as his background is Japanese, but his smile is genuine and I feel an immediate connection.

"I don't know how to use a computer" he says, looking a little forlorn, "but I will learn" he says, all of a sudden looking a little brighter. I understood his passion, remembering my struggle to learn how to drive a manual shift vehicle last year, and the realization that learning something new is not something we do every day, especially when we get older.

I’m a terrible patient. I have a disease that is so easily handled yet I found it hard to get my head around taking a pill everyday.

I was asked why I stopped taking the pills. I didn’t really know but I suspect it was the blasé way I was given the diagnosis of hypothyroidism after a routine physical.

I did look into it further. The tiny blue pills that I have to take for the rest of my life weren’t something I trusted. I got tests at a naturopathic clinic and found out my body could synthesize the hormone correctly. That was good news. These pills were going to help me be less tired. My hormone levels would balance so I wouldn’t teeter on the brink of depression. My sex drive would return to normal. The weight I had gained because of it might regulate. And to be truthful, those things I popped did all that.

But, after a while, I just got tired of it. When you take the pills you can’t have iron or calcium or vitamins for four hours. It was a lot of work. I figured I had altered my diet and was living well and maybe I didn’t need them anymore. And there was no one to check in on me. And my doctor didn’t seem to need blood tests anymore. So, I just stopped taking them.

Which led me to recently, when I started having to sleep 12 hours and I wasn't even feeling refreshed when I woke up. I couldn’t find energy at all. It made me frantic in my tired brain. Days of six hours were enough and I felt like the living dead. Not the ideal situation for a 34 year old business owner in her busiest season.

After a blood test and recommendations, it was clear that I was wrong. I cracked the plastic pill bottle and hoped for some future energy. And promised myself that I would never be such a terrible patient again.

A friend of mine admitted on facebook that what he had seen online this week had made him depressed. He'd seen misogyny, racism, cheating, scandal, drugs, and all around disrespect for life. And it had pummeled his senses through the online channels he kept open. He wondered if it was just him that had been affected. And I said no... and told him to go take a hike. Literally.

Addiction. We make fun of it, but it's in the news a lot these days. For some it's drugs and alcohol. Others it's mental struggles. And there are those who don't think it's as urgent, but the first thing they do in the morning is roll over and check their phones. Thankfully, I had a boyfriend who broke me of that habit. It was probably the best thing he ever did for me. No phones in the bedroom, no iphone alarms as the guide. I actually bought a clock radio from Value Village for ten dollars. I still have it and it works just fine.

For those of us who make a living on our computers with our words and ideas, it sometimes gets harder because we're also encouraged to live out our social lives on it as well. We keep in touch on it. We share photos. We share recipes. We flash our friends. We sext. We netflix. We attempt to online date because our best friends said it would be a good idea. And when it all gets too much, I leave my house.

Sounds simple, but I remember a friend of mine saying that when she worked at home, she actually got up in the morning, dressed to impress, walked out her door, got a coffee down the block, had a chat with the local barista, walked around the block, ran errands and came home. And then she started her day. Sounds a bit crazy, but it made her leave the house, and it made her feel the temperature of the air, the wind, the rain, the sunshine. It's not just our skin that needs these little gestures, it's our brains.

I know a lot of pretty ladies who can't get a date in my town. In fact, in the many cities I've lived in, every place seems to have their excuse. Vancouver is too laid back, Mumbai you have to live in the right neighbourhood, London you probably should snog someone at work because you're always at work and Toronto... well, in Toronto, the ratio seems to be off. Smart, eloquent, fit ladies are everywhere. And they're single.

Toronto thrives online so it makes sense that some friends swear by their OKCupid existences. Some pay for more private services online hoping to get a more curated crowd. Some hope to find people the old fashioned way. Others have mindless sex via Tinder or Grinder or whatever the app of the month is. Flipside to this is that I know ladies who haven't had sex in over a year. And some just give up entirely. They send texts to their most attractive friends in hopes that things will flourish. Others have a sense of humour about it, and decide to turn to art that upholds the weirdness that is online dating - see this wonderful tumblr for more of that: http://drawnlinedating.tumblr.com/

After a long hiatus, I went back on tinder, hoping for at least some entertainment. I had heard recently, on the reality TV show Millionnaire Matchmaker, one candidate who was described as "driven in career but lazy in love." And for some reason, it stuck with me. I mean, I couldn't be like that too, could I?

I'd had some heart wrenching relationships that eviscerated my soul in the last six years and so I'd taken some time off. A broken heart or two isn't the best place to start anything new, I justified to myself, but eventually, I lost count of the months that passed and just became content with life. I ran a company, traveled, visited my family, loved my friends, was fit and healthy and happy... and ever the gal with faith in the planet, I just felt like one day, I'd say hello to the person who wanted to join me. Every once in a while I'd get a little sad that it didn't work out with those two men. I'd wonder if I fucked up. I'd wonder if I should've tried harder, or if right now, I should be trying harder to meet new people.

It was a while since I'd been here. I walked out of the -20 degree weather into a warm living room. As I unburdened myself of my layers, he went to the kitchen and began to grind the coffee. "An early evening brew" he said, smiling. I looked down, realizing I had placed my handbag on the floor. "In Romania, if you put the bag on the floor, they won't serve you at the restaurant, they believe it's bad luck" I explained, as I picked it up, carefully placing the bag on the couch. "I don't know why I believe it, but there must be some truth to it" I remarked, wondering how I had put faith in this idea."Sometimes it sticks with you" he said in his cadenced tone. I paused. "Yes, that's a good way of putting it."

We had gotten together that afternoon to work on me. He was a teacher of the Alexander Technique and I was in need of a long term solution for my lingering back problem of the last year. He had used the technique to recover from a car accident years prior and was someone I'd met one summer. I'd temporarily become part of Toronto's Brazilian community. Love affairs, hand holding, spirits entangling, the collision of us lasted not very long but long enough. It was a moment of the past that had faded away as quickly as it had come. It had been years since we'd seen each other, but I realized that his tempo was welcome in my life because he was something different. He didn't really define me or know me from what I did, but we shared many similar viewpoints on health, spirituality, openness and general approach to living. Life is boring if you always surround yourself with everyone who agrees with you and likes the same things.

We had spent time earlier that day working on my re-alignment. Alexander, it is said, developed his technique because he was chronically losing his voice. Since he was an actor, it was detrimental to the development of his career. A close examination of posture using mirrors revealed he was shutting his larynx down due to an incorrect tilting of the head. He developed techniques to correct this and many actors and musicians use them to this day to correct chronic body alignment issues.

With careful movements, he took my body and introduced new ways to sit, to bend, to stand, to lift and to lengthen. Slow, thoughtful movements, that required the necessity to trust the other person's ability to see you from another viewpoint. The technique relies on the movements to be guided by the teacher, and the student must let the movements be made. The mind is a powerful thing, and letting go is very hard. I said this thought aloud. He replied, "we are teaching you to un-habit what you have learned."

What we saw in the rehearsal hall was inspiring. Though the dance could be described as contemporary tango, the choreography uses a wide berth of dance culture, bringing them together as an explosive, sensual narrative about revolution, oppression, family, love, loss and lust. I can't really describe it poetically.... it was hot. So hot, that I actually thought to myself, I'm not sure if Toronto will know where to look!

Choreographer Sergio Trujillo, well-known for his amazing work on Broadway on smash hit shows such as Jersey Boys and Memphis, addressed the gathered room. Wheeling a diorama of the Arrabal's stage's set as he spoke, he explained that this was the first ever run through of the show in North America and that previously it had only been workshopped and performed in an old cathédrale in Buenos Aires. The church had tall ceilings and was let to ruin and he described it as filled with sex and abandonment. It had the soul of a brothel. Well, that picture, yes, was now firmly implanted in my mind.

Now, let's get back to Toronto. Toronto, a city of cultures, of neighbourhoods, of music, of revelry. A city that blends work and pleasure almost seamlessly, a city of festivals, a city of extremely cold and extremely hot. But, Toronto? I don't see it as a city of sex. Not of the kind of sex I saw portrayed onstage in the show, anyway. Shirts being grabbed, hips grinding, hands reaching, heels being flicked, lips licking. The eyes were persuasive and the hair was a tool of temptation. The sway of it all was truly seductive. Slow, slow, quick quick, slow. The dancers circled each other carefully and intensely. Slow, slow, quick quick, slow. A blonde dancer is flipped around her partner's body. Slow, slow, quick quick, slow. Men compete for attention of the women. Slow, slow, quick quick, slow. Women step carefully, using every part of their bodies to bend, lean, twist and spin with their partners.

One of the best reasons to travel, in my opinion, is perspective. I've traveled in many ways - alone, with partners, and with family. Sometimes it's with a plan, sometimes there is less of a initial sense of direction.

This past week I found myself on a beautiful family trip to celebrate Christmas. We gathered from all of our respective homes and countries for a pre-planned family vacation in the Italian alps.  We went skiing. Our days were simple; wake up, eat, ski, eat, have hot bath, eat, play game, drink, sleep, and repeat. It wasn't the easiest place to get internet, so we stopped checking. The town's shops were a little overpriced, so we didn't shop. The main square had a hut that sold ostrich and crabs to people who wanted to show off during apres-ski. We chose to lounge in the chalet and relax. It was paradise, and we were lucky.

I met one person who gave me some valuable perspective. Many years my junior, he reminded me, just by his attitude and tempo, that I had almost lost that carefree spirit I used to revel in. I was now aware of my shortcomings more than my success. I was closer to anxiety than exuberance. And here he was, in one of the most beautiful natural places on earth, living his dream. When I said I worked in music, he said he had a band. He laughed when he told me their name (i loved it, it was funny.) I later watched his youtube videos recorded with a friend at home. Like skiing, he had a natural ability for playing ukelele. He was funny, charming, and carefree. Carefree. A misleading word, really. He did care, in effect, he was just better adjusted to caring. He loved. He loved his life. He loved his friends. And he knew what he loved to do. So he did it.

On day three of our trip, our group was skiing in some deep powder. I'm not the best at skiing in powder, so I had some spectacular falls that day. The second fall was probably my worst, when one of the skis got stuck in a drift and I fell backwards, bashing my green-helmeted head on the snow behind. I yelled and was in shock, despite the fact that the powder was a softer landing than usual. Every bone in my neck cracked, probably to some positive effect. I lay there for a second, and then suddenly, he appeared, having popped off his skis and run up the hill. "Put your skis across the hill" he said. My only thought was that I had said this to the kids I used to teach cross country ski to on Cypress Mountain in West Vancouver many years ago. I stood up, and immediately fell into him. He caught me. "You ok?" he said. "Yep" I said, wondering if my bruised ego was showing, "thank you." He smiled. "Let's go!" and zipped off down the hill to rejoin the group. I followed. Life was simple in that moment. All you had to do, really, was to find a path, tempt fate, enjoy the heck out of the adrenaline fueled fun of it all, learn something, fall, get up, and keep going. (Plus, you learn really quickly in skiing that it's ok to fall, and it's not even a big deal, you just need to get up and keep going.)

On the last day of the year, we often take pause. Today I thought of the tangibles, what I'd learned this year: who I'd met, who I'd loved, who I'd lost, who I missed, what risks I took, and what I hoped for the future. And ultimately, I think I'll take all of it and put value in the lesson learned last week.

It's officially December and we're now allowed to put up the Christmas decorations. Or, if you're Jewish, you've already got a few candles lit to celebrate Hannukah. I tuned into CBC Radio in Toronto this evening and heard a portion of an interesting debate, where there was an Imam (a worship leader in a Muslim community) and a Rabbi (a worship leader of the Jewish faith) who were speaking about the right to celebrate our own faiths. Specifically, they were commenting that we should probably stop sanitizing the holidays by greeting each other with "happy holidays." It gave me pause. What an interesting thought. I'd gotten so used to being politically correct that I hadn't stopped to think about it. Can a Catholic not greet a Jew with a smile and a happy Christmas? Would that not be a welcome warm gesture, in fact? An acknowledgement of a beautiful thought and a reverence for a religious occasion in a specific faith?

It seems we're getting pretty used to a double standard. I say Namaste in my yoga classes which, traditionally, comes from Asian cultures, and is reverent in the Sikh religion. Here in Toronto, they often explain that is is a greeting and it can, loosely mean "the good in you greets the good in me."

So if we're getting okay with everyday religious words, why can't we acknowledge Christmas as Christmas and not have to say happy holidays? The Rabbi on the radio was eloquent when he said he thought we should, and also pointed out that if we're being inclusive, happy holidays this year wouldn't even acknowledge the Jewish celebration of Hannukah, since it is early December this year.

I spent two months in India in 2004/2005 and it was over the holiday season. India was truly a place that I began to understand and respect religion, since it seemed that most people who were there were of varied religions and that all co-existed easily. Reverence was everywhere. At Holiday time, people were invited to Holiday parties and no specific holiday was acknowledged. You saw people begging for change in santa hats, and religious processions and rituals here and there, but generally, it had become a product of the melting pot. So many religious things so it was easier just to acknowledge the need for people to come together in a celebration of love and light of the season.

We've found a new culture shock in our fake online kingdom. This weekend, Canada's national newspaper published a story titled "Life of solitude: A loneliness crisis is looming" which struck a chord with me and a number of my friends. George Stroumboulopoulos chatted with Lindi Ortega on his late night Sunday radio show The Strombo Show who brought up in her interview the feeling of loneliness through her filter of being an immigrant daughter who is living in a country and having no relatives nearby. It's something I can also personally relate to, and I'm sure that we're not the only immigrant children who have that complaint. My friend down the street had showed up one evening this week to say hello and brought up the fact that noone touches each other anymore, and how lonely he gets as the seasons change.

When I mentioned that my Saturday night was a bit quiet and removed, my neighbour pointed out to me over coffee that it's pretty normal to feel the blues, and that maybe, it's okay to admit feeling that way every once in a while. She pointed to rise of facebook and social media for making everyone feel like they needed to only post sunshine photos and happiness. She actually got quite irate about it, saying that cycles of life are normal, and that we need to let ourselves feel.

While I agree with her, I also think that there is some truth to the shift in the way we live our lives. I think, perhaps, we have now achieved a new level of social isolation. After all, this was the week where the Oxford Dictionary named the word of the year as the "selfie." More and more Canadians are finding themselves living alone. Women are having children later in life. The divorce rate is high. Dating relies on a screen, rather than meeting someone in person for a first impression. There has been a huge shift in the way we relate, and maybe this juncture is the checkpoint. And we're not really winning. And no-one is listening to anyone else.

So what has caused this fake filter to win? How did loneliness overthrow our fake kingdoms? The culprits are many, but I'd guess, without any real facts to support me, that if we were to remove or put down those screens, and enforce new rules of communication, maybe we could reverse the damages. Perhaps there wouldn't be a need for people who charge for cuddles, laughter yoga and conversation? Perhaps we could share those cups of sugar with our neighbours again?

Personally, I subscribe to slowing things down when things seem bluer than usual. I call out to my family, I craft, I read, I listen to music, I exercise. Warming up the body is a surefire way to warm up the mind, which is what I think, when we stare at vapid photos of people always looking happy on the internet, or we judge that one person who wrote about the blues they actually feel via a misplaced facebook status update, we should, as Ice Cube said "check yo'self." Step back, realize what a terrible judgement it is to think that all those smiling people of the internet are perpetually happy like that. That the one person who turned to the status update as a way to reach out (to anyone really), isn't a complete loss. They're just sad at that moment and they used the wrong mode of expression to put it out there.

This morning, when the coffee shop I frequent regularly was playing TLC's Crazy Sexy Cool, I realized I freaking loved those songs. Hearing that one tune off that album was so great at that moment in time, and it set such the right tone. I said to the coffee shop gent that perhaps it was because it was this time of year, with the cold winds, that we needed these slow jams for snuggle weather. He smiled, but disagreed. He said, "I think that we like them because they're just good songs." A very simple statement, and it didn't look further than it needed to. I liked it.

This evening, a neighbour had an argument down the hallway, scaring another neighbour in the process to the point that she called me. Across the hall, she had heard the smashing of what sounded like a raft of plates to the ground, and subsequently vacuuming up the entrails... it was alarming. After things calmed down, I turned to my only known cure-all - the Paul Rudd rom com. Now I won't name the film, but it was of a depth that made me nostalgic, there was enough relationship trouble that I could correlate in some way to my life failures, and I finished it feeling mildly satiated, and calm enough to potentially fall asleep and not think about work, news or politics.

There was this one scene in the movie where the lead woman is explaining how she'd stayed in the same job for sixteen years, and was looking for a change, and how, at this moment in time, she was living with her parents. And she quipped to the lady in the scene, that she "thought it was going to be horrible" and it actually wasn't. There was laughter and then both ladies smiled a sort of appreciation for that statement. And my brain, as the watcher, was thinking of my own such moment.

Despite being a somewhat fearless lady, I lived with my parents for a month this summer. It was unexpected, but it was necessary. And so, I ended up in a country that I wasn't familiar with, and my expectation was one of potential discomfort. How could a 30 something woman live with her parents again? Was I a failure?

Of course, just like the movie, the opposite was true. I guess as you get older, you sometimes have the space to appreciate that you don't have to react in the way you think you're going to. You can let people judge you as they do, but you get to make up your own mind.