TYLER BIARD

Early in my pursuit of photography, 7 years ago now, I went down Whyte Ave, and tried street photography out for the first time.  I had my Nikon F80, a 50mm f1.8 lens, and a roll of Ilford XP2.  I had recently become inspired by the work of the then-viral Vivian Maier, and done some extensive research on tips for street photography online.  I remember how nerve-wracking it was and how giddy I got when I was successful in getting a proper candid shot.  I finished off the roll and went to the McBain at Southgate, which at the time would do same day developing of C-41 if you got there before 3pm (unsure if they still do).  I was eager to see the results as soon as possible.  Once I got the negatives back, I got home as soon as possible to scan them.  I was hooked on street photography after that.

Perhaps the most important aspect of street photography for me was its ability to genuinely encapsulate an era and preserve it for future generations.  I definitely talked about it a lot at the time, as noted in interviews.  Perhaps it was an indirect influence of the “decisive moment” but I think the influence was more via Vivian Maier and her aimless wandering of Chicago and New York from the ‘50s to the ‘90s, amassing this stunning archive.  I loved how photography could combine documentation with art.

Back then, as I still do, I had anxiety regarding the passage of time, and how everything we know now is impermanent and becomes rusted with time, before eventually completely disappearing from existence.  One day, our entire civilization, species, and life as we know it on Earth, will crumble.  I thought of photography as a way to circumvent this maxim.  I wanted this time, my time, to be remembered, both for myself and others in the future.  I didn’t want it to fade into the abyss.  Photography would allow me to freeze time for subsequent viewing.

As time went on, I realized how futile this was.  Photography is merely a veneer, and can only record so much.  It is selective.  Furthermore, what people keep viewing in the future is even more selective.  Photography is limited.  I recall this documentary I watched of Garry Winogrand, and he was discussing this photo he took in Texas at a rodeo.  In it, there’s a boy with an adult, I believe partially cut off at the waist.  The adult is holding a cowboy hat hovering directly above the boy.  Winogrand argued that this photograph, which many would describe as straight photography, was not an absolutely objective document because you could not tell by the freeze of the frame whether the hat was being put on the boy’s head or taken off.  By this logic, even the most literal art can be viewed as abstraction.  This is something that has stuck with me since.

As I said though, I still have that same time-based anxiety.  I may have given up film, and even street photography, but that sentiment still exists for me.  Maybe it won’t ever go away, or maybe it’ll be numbed by time itself.  However, as I’ve gotten older, it has taken on new dimensions.  Now, it is far more focused on myself.  Rather than wanting to preserve time for others to consume in the future, I want to preserve things for myself, which was always a component before, but that has now taken centre stage.  I feel my memory becoming less sharp, and my ability to retain new information is not as great as it was 7 years ago.  It causes me a lot of anxiety; I worry about everything I’m losing.  So, I continue to preserve, whether with photography, or other things, but with more of an inward focus.  I’m even writing more about myself, even though I have a tendency to hate everything I write.  Now, I just don’t want to fade into the abyss.

But of course, even preserving myself, for myself, is kind of futile, and quite futile if for others to peruse.  For starters, what are memories?  Are they genuine recollections of the past, that give the full breadth of feeling that a particular time and place had?  Or are they just stories we retell ourselves, slowly more and more distorted, not unlike a stereotypical high school rumour spreading?  Think about it like the saying of “if you don’t use it, you lose it.”  We remember things not by recalling back to them directly, but because we’ve retold ourselves it into the present, but that gets smoothed over by time too.  Details become faded, even from recent events.  There’s just no way you can remember every single detail and every single thought from even a day ago.   The past is a distorted idea that we can’t ever fully remember.  All we really have is the now.

That doesn’t stop me from trying to preserve myself and my ideas, fearing it fading if just locked in my brain.  However, there are inherent limitations to language that try to box in the endless abstraction of human emotion.  All I, or anyone for that matter, can convey is a watered down version of what is felt.  My writing, my photos, my artifacts, my everything, all they can give myself or an onlooker is a glimpse, but not a full and accurate portrait.  I simply do not have the time nor the energy to record every thought or feeling in my life.  If I did, I would cease living.  Even if I could fully express myself through humanity’s various means of communication, it is impossible for someone else to fully understand what I’m conveying, from my perspective, and how precisely I feel it, because they don’t have my experience or perspective, they have their own unique experience and perspective that I, in turn, can never fully appreciate.

Today, I felt cooped up.  Just like the assistant told me on Tuesday before I got my wisdom teeth removed.  I’d have a day all at home, and then the day after I’d start to feel restless.  Of course, I still feel weak, so I didn’t make it far.  I actually went out twice, though.  To the same spot, even. 

I went to the swings at a nearby park.  It’s a place I go to whenever I’m feeling wistful.  I think this habit goes back to Fall 2014.  I was out with N, and as was de rigueur for that time, he was feeling down over his poor employment prospects.  He was himself wistful, and wanted to go the park near his and just let go and be on the swings.  So, we did.  Meanwhile, in the background, a couple was breaking up and the dude was bawling his eyes out.  Talk about awkward.  I never picked up the habit of going to the swings myself until a couple of years later, and now it’s a regular thing whenever the pensive nerve strikes.  Like that time with N, I generally go at night, so I’m not distracted by others.  Today, though, I went during the day.  It was fine at first until my reflections became interrupted by ensuring I didn’t hit the toddlers that decided to invade the park who are too young to realize if they get close to me on a swing, I will hit them.  I left, but not immediately, so as to not rouse the suspicion I may be leaving on account of them.  But tonight, the wistfulness hadn’t dissipated, so I went out again, and was a lot more introspective sans the distractions.

It was a warm day today.  I think high 20s.  I was swinging back and forth, taking in the sweet, warm breeze, inhaling the bone dry Alberta air.  Sure, it’s not as romantic as the Pacific air, but it was a sticking point for me nonetheless.  I used to complain about how humid it is in Ontario, and now I’ve begun to do the inverse.  My lips are chapped, my nose bleeds, and I just realize humans weren’t meant for an environment like Alberta.

Perhaps it was merely the playground setting, but the whole scene took me back to sixth grade, 2005.  Perhaps it was the music I was playing on my iPod.  When I came back at night, I specifically listened to music that really reminds me of that era.  Stuff like Green Day’s American Idiot, Gwen Stefani’s Love.Angel.Music.Baby, Hilary Duff’s Metamorphosis, and Simple Plan’s No Pads, No Helmets...Just Balls.  Though it was 50 Cent that I listened to on repeat the whole walk home.  I used to lament that I never grew up with Zeppelin or Nirvana, and I had to discover “good” music later in life.  I used to hide these early musical influences from my life.  I’ve found over the past 12-18 months, I’ve really begun to accept who I am.  That Top 40 drivel I grew up with is apart of me.  I’m ok with that.

Despite that, I struggle with acceptance from others.  I often feel like I don’t fit anywhere.  I guess that’s what’s so enticing about Toronto.  Someone recently told me that they think I’m a “glimmer” in people’s lives, and that perhaps I don’t realize how positively impactful I’ve been in people’s lives.  It was sort of funny to hear that, because I rarely feel that.  I often wonder about if people really care about me, if they’ll really be sad if I’m gone.  Perhaps I can never truly know.  I often feel disrespected and neglected here.  People are too busy interrupting me or ignoring me outright to care for what I have to say.  People are too busy with their own lives. Ironically, they’ll happily read what I have to say here.  Perhaps this is more of a reflection of me, and my awkwardness and difficulty in connecting, than it is on them, though.  Perhaps it’s more romantic to read about me than listen to me in the flesh.

I was talking with someone recently and they mentioned how when confronted with an impasse in a relationship, sometimes a change in one person’s life means that there’s a sense of nothing to lose in the relationship, and so they’re willing to confront all the dirty laundry in said relationship.  I think that’s what I’m doing now.  Coming back from Toronto, I’ve realized how so many of my interpersonal relationships are just plain awkward, and I don’t feel like keeping up pretenses as if that isn’t the case anymore.  I’m tired of trying to make failed relationships work.  It’s exhausting.  I’m cool with telling people that now that I previously would have rather kept mum over, for politeness’ sake.

Perhaps my mind went to 2005 because it was a major upheaval for me.  I was transitioning to junior high, and leaving all of my friends behind on the Northside.  Only one friend from that era remains, Carm.  I always took her as constant, always there, and thus, for granted.  Now, she’s halfway around the world.  I’m really happy we’ve managed to stay close, but she’s not here anymore.  Perhaps I’ve taken Edmonton as a whole for granted.  Always assuming it’d be here, and I’d be here, in it.

If any of you have seen Lady Bird (2017), there’s a part where the guidance nun lady at the main character’s school tells her that she thinks the main character really loves Sacramento, much to her surprise.  The hometown that the main character so desperately sought to leave upon graduation, yet shone brightly in her writing.  I think I have a similar relationship with Edmonton.  A few months ago, I started sending photos and videos via Instagram to people in Toronto (and later Calgary), to show them what Edmonton’s like.  I wanted to show them that Edmonton’s actually a pretty cool city.  It grew to be something for myself too, a record of this place for when I leave.  I do think I’ll always have a soft spot for Edmonton, despite my grievances with it, but I don’t think it’s where I belong anymore.  It seems like my future is in Ontario, not here; Ford Nation be damned!

The weird thing about this 2005 nostalgia is that it isn’t a yearning sort of nostalgia.  I don’t wish to be transported back to 2005.  It’s just a reminiscing, vaguely cathartic, sort of nostalgia.  It’s not the usual way I’m nostalgic.  For the sixth grade graduation, we went for roller skating.  Now that I do wish we still had in Edmonton, as I was gonna do that for my birthday last year.

I remember in fifth grade, ordering some Hilary Duff (or maybe Lizzie McGuire) themed books from those Scholastic book orders you could do.  I remember my teacher got the order in and just listed out the titles of the books in front of the whole class, and whomever it belong to could pick it up.  I remember when my Hilary books came up, I got embarrassed and didn’t raise my hand.  He repeatedly called it out and then classmates started giggling at the absurdity.  He eventually gave up.  At recess, I went to him and said they belonged to me, to which he gave this cold, disdainful look.  It wasn’t because I didn’t say something earlier, but because me, a dude, had ordered Hilary Duff books.  I remember playing it off by saying it was for my sister.  I don’t have a sister.  It’s for this and a million other things that I didn’t end up more “femme”. Perhaps it’s also for this sort of thing that it’s taken me so long to accept myself.

Stuff like this makes me feel bad for my dad.  He always tried to be the kindest, most accepting person.  He slaved away, went back to school, to ensure I had the best life possible.  He loves me no matter what.  He accepts me for who I am.  And yet I still had all of this homophobic, outside influence to bring me down, despite his best efforts, including from within my own family.  He wanted so much more for me and I couldn’t reach it.

This past while has brought up a lot of change for someone who loathes change.  I don’t think Edmonton has changed as much as the new skyscrapers indicate.  I think I’m changing, and away from Edmonton. In realizing this, I’m acutely aware of how much I took it all for granted.  It’s weird how all of the new, strong connections I’m forging this year are with people elsewhere.  All except one in Toronto.  The one is in Calgary, and even he’s moving to Toronto at the end of the summer.

It’s like after 2am now, and I did a lot of walking for someone who’s barely eaten over the past 48 hours, so I’m not entirely sure how much sense I’m making anymore.  I don’t really have a proper conclusion to this.  Perhaps someone out there will find solace in the random tidbits I’ve provided here. 

With all of the changes that have been coming into my life over the past month, I’ve been looking back to a different time -- 2014.  That year was a year of significant change for me as well.  You could argue that 2016 and 2017 also had its fair share of shake ups, but 2014 was a fundamental shift for me.  Although I wasn’t the same person a few months ago that I was in 2014, it did feel like at least some of the themes in my life that emerged then were reverberating into the present.  Now, it feels like the last elements of that iteration of myself are withering away.  I was once asked to categorize my life into “eras” as a thought exercise.  Well, I feel like the era that began in 2014 is now over.  In adulthood, there was the 2011-2014 era, the 2014-2018 era, and now this new era.  Where I’m going from here is something I’m still trying to figure out.

May 2018 was a major upheaval and changed my perspective and orientation on things, and where I saw my life headed.  Of course, the seeds were planted well beforehand, but this was the month that it all came together for me to begin putting it into action.  It’s terrific yet terrifying.  I think now about the goals I had over the previous era and how these things I once thought as inevitable are no longer so.  I was gonna move to Utrecht and do a semester abroad, and stay behind for a bit, see England, Germany, and Eastern Europe.  Maybe parts of France.  I was definitely gonna go to Berlin, though.  And Leipzig.  I was gonna stay in Edmonton, and probably work for the City of Edmonton as an urban planner.  It’d be a great place to work and the job market here is quite decent for planners, so it fit.  I was gonna watch younger people in my life grow up and change.  I was gonna work at the City for a summer before completing my degree.  I had it all figured out.  Or perhaps not, but in hindsight it feels like it relative to how things are now. 

Now, I’m gonna move to Toronto.  Something I dreamt of doing for nearly 7 years but never had the courage to do.  I was too afraid to let myself go and be somewhere I felt like I belonged.  My mind is out there already.  I am regularly adding 2 hours to the time when I look at it to remember what time it is for the people I Know out there.  And connections.  I’m forging more and more connections there, and very amazing ones with the most amazing people.  I don’t mean that as a slight against people here in Edmonton, because I really do love the people here, but it’s just...different.  I am now reconfiguring my life and all the plans I had for the future are out the window, all to make it possible for me to move to a place I am quite passionate about.

In some ways, the notion of moving 2,700km away from home is utterly gut-wrenching.  In others, the notion of staying here is even more gut-wrenching.  Over the past week, I’ve been confronted with so much nonsense in my persona life here in Edmonton, which has just made me yearn to leave all the baggage of this place behind.  Not that Toronto will be perfect.  I know it’ll have its own set of challenges, but I’m growing tired of the bullshit here.  It’s caused me to confront things that I was not previously comfortable with doing, as I have this growing sense that I don’t have much to lose here.  Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.

All of this impending change is making me think back to the last major shift, in 2014, and comparing things now to then.  There’s some interesting dichotomies that I’ve become aware of.  For example, in 2014, things were opening up again with my mom for the first time in 7 years, and now, it looks like they may be closing up again.  But, that’s another can of worms.

Another thing that I’m acutely aware of is the anxiety and butterflies I’m feeling, that I haven’t felt, at least not in this way, since 2014.  The year started off just like 2013 ended, and it wasn’t until mid-year that things shifted.  In July, I went down to Calgary, and met up with some photographers that I’d actually encountered via Tumblr, and it was just an eye-opening experience for me.  While I’d had some people in my life prior to that visit, none really with similar interests, and so I felt this strong connection there.  I got back to Edmonton and remember feeling physically sick over how depressingly different everything was here.  I felt empty.  I contemplated moving to Calgary.

Now, that last bit probably sounds a bit too familiar to what’s going on now, but it’s only similar on the surface, like a lot of these comparisons between now and then.  The people in Toronto now are people I have a deeper connection with that goes beyond simply having similar interests, and I never really had a strong passion towards Calgary.  I don’t dislike the place, but it was never captivating like Toronto is.  It feels different.  Toronto feels more “right” than Calgary ever did.

Anyway, after I got back from Calgary in ‘14, I decided to take advantage of a rope I’d been thrown back in the spring.  It was an opportunity for me to branch out, meet new people.  I’d had conflicting schedules with the guy, but now my schedule was as empty as my heart felt.  Ok, enough with the melodrama.  So I went, in August.  Although the seeds of change had been planted in Calgary, and arguably from the old coworker who gave me the new contact in Edmonton, I still consider that August night when everything washed over into a new paradigm.

I’d spent the day with my childhood best friend, we went to the Fringe, went for dinner, and then she sent me off to the apartment building where the game night would be held.  I was so damn nervous.  I took the above photo going up the elevator to my new chapter.  Thank god I’ve learnt how to dress better in the ensuing years!

I still remember seeing him for the first time. He was unlike all of the others.  His crimson scruff, his beautiful voice, his charming charisma.  He shattered my notions of who I needed to be.  I felt a wave of possibilities.  I’d never met someone like him before.  After that night, I felt ok enough with myself to fully come out. 

Soon, I’d meet other people through him, then I’d get a new job, and meet more people.  The possibilities felt immense at the time.  I started to become more “social” and tried to be open to new opportunities.  Ultimately, it was doomed as a lot of these people were people that I was able to get along with, but wasn’t able to connect with deeply due to different values, interests, and so forth.

These days, he’s not much more than an acquaintance.  That night I met him turned out to be the best it ever was with that relationship.  It didn’t take long for him to burn me and play me and break me.  Now, there’s no real feelings associated with him.  Perhaps residual bitterness, but I saw him for the first time in years recently, and it was surprisingly fine.  I’m a different person now than 4 years ago.  I also realize that despite some initial draw, him and I didn’t actually have much in common.  I wish him all the best.  He’s with another friend of mine now, and it truly isn’t weird for me.  I wish them all the best.

Despite it all, I am glad I met him.  He inadvertently showed me that I don’t have to fit a mainstream cliche, and that I can just be me, and it gave me the courage to start myself on that path.

I meant to write about this before I left for Toronto this month, based on a conversation I’d had with my dad over dinner one night in April, but I got caught up in final assignments and exams, and now here we are. I want to explain my strong relationship with Toronto, and how it has evolved yet stayed true to the same core roots at the same time.

I first went to Toronto in July 2011, just weeks after graduating high school.  It was my first time down east and my first time in a bona fide big city.  It was an amazing experience, to say the least, and I’ve been hooked on Toronto ever since.  Funnily enough, it wasn’t a foray into “cool” Toronto -- I never went east of the Don, west of Bathurst, or north of Casa Loma that trip, aside from an excursion to the Zoo, back when I didn’t mind zoos (we all have a past).  I did obligatory things like the CN Tower, Toronto Island, Kensington Market, Bay Street, Queen’s Park, and the ROM.  It was probably the most “touristy” Toronto experience I’d done.

I stayed right off Yonge, at a now-rebranded hotel, and I remember the first night being there, going to the Sobeys late at night, and the buzz of the city.  There was so much happening, so many people, going out for a weekend night.  It was trippy, and reminded me of the music video for Daft Punk’s Da Funk.  It was so electric.  I was hooked. 

I remember being mesmerized by the Kensington Market.  I remember taking a sunset ferry from Centre Island back to the Harbourfront, and the post-pride crowd filling up the ferry, and just everyone making out with each other, while I awkwardly stood there.  I remember getting overwhelmed by the scale of the ROM, and stumbling across the same Edward Burtynsky exhibit that was on earlier that year at the then-newly-reopened AGA.  I also remember the gross humidity.  It was July in Toronto, after all, and I’m from dry-as-fuck Alberta.

I remember getting back and I just felt like Edmonton could not compare.  There was something about Toronto.  At the time I was less traveled, though, and it could’ve just been chalked up to that.  But, it’s 2018, and here I am, still with Toronto on the brain. 

People who knew me back then could attest to how much I was into Toronto.  The idea of moving out there dawned on me, but the idea of moving halfway across the country, thousands of kilometres from home, scared the shit out of me.  I don’t think I was emotionally ready for such a huge leap.  The fact that I knew no one in Toronto was very daunting, especially when I had a very fragile social network even at home at the time.  That being said, it probably would’ve been easier to move then, with less established ties to Edmonton, and I do remember that dawning on me.  I was very lonely at the time and less bogged down by Edmonton.  Still, the fright headlined any notion of my moving, and so I never did. 

I returned 3 years later, in 2014.  This time I roped in a trip to Montreal, another city I absolutely adore.  However, I remember, because we hit Montreal first, being there, and just longing for Toronto.  The pull was strong, even after 3 years.  Even having a string of bad encounters of street photography wasn’t enough to make me hate Toronto. I was in Toronto for World Pride too, which was quite overwhelming in and of itself.  I branched out a bit more into the neighbourhoods this time, including Koreatown, the Beaches, and Trinity-Bellwoods.  I met up with my first contact in the city.  Kinda funny to think about in hindsight, actually.  I remember being on the flight back to Edmonton, and the flight attendant asking me about why I was in Toronto, and explained how I visited Montreal first before taking the train down to Toronto.  I remember her just absolutely raving about Montreal, and I remember just thinking about how great Toronto is in my head. 

I realize Toronto is far from a perfect city.  It is overpriced, it is really hot in the summer, it isn’t very confident on the international stage (it’s a place that would rather pretend to be New York).  While obviously old compared to Edmonton, it definitely lacks things that you get in a city like Montreal or the old Eastern seaboard metropoli in the States.  But it never really bothered me.  Toronto felt great.  Getting back from Toronto in 2014, I still had the “Toronto Brain” that I had previously, as I’d explained it to friends.  I was just really into things out there and disillusioned by Edmonton even further. 

Fast-forward another few years, to 2017, and I was back in Toronto.  This time in Toronto felt fleeting.  I was doing an extended roadtrip through Quebec and Southern Ontario and Toronto was merely a few days in a 2 week plus adventure, working on my Canada project.  I met up with a new friend for the first time, but didn’t really have time for any other socializing, despite knowing a few people in Toronto by then.  I was too busy working on getting to as many sites as possible across the GTA.  This was also the first time I really experienced the 905.  I had a great time, though.  The weather was pretty decent for July.  I walked over 20km with my new friend, learning a lot about Toronto from a local’s perspective.  It was probably the highlight of that 2 week plus trip.

Interestingly, getting back from Toronto last year, it was the point at which my yearning for Toronto, while still alive, was much diminished compared with 2011 and 2014.  Last year, I remember having a sense of completeness in Edmonton, but it didn’t last beyond the summer, really. 

Regardless, I wanted to come back to Toronto this year, because I felt like my trip last year, within the context of my project, was too rushed.  I wanted to come to Toronto, and just focus on Toronto.  And now I’m here, Still in Edmonton™,   on the heels of coming back from one of the greatest travel experiences of my life.

Before I was leaving for Toronto, I remember feeling this tremendous pull there, the kind of pull I’ve come to expect on the heels of coming back.  That was what I was going to focus on if I wrote this last month.  The feeling was that Edmonton was limiting.  I felt limited by everything from the people to the urbanism here, and still do.  I mean, I’d had these feelings before, but never before had I felt the sense that I could actually leave Edmonton for Toronto.  It was still daunting to think about, but for the first time in my life, it felt doable.  I started to feel like Edmonton was holding me back from growing as a person, that I’d gotten all I could out of this place.  I’d discussed this with my dad, and some friends, and the general idea was that it made most sense to complete my undergrad here in Edmonton, and then leave.  It really does make sense on paper.  I have a sweet deal here, living at home, working on my degree.  That’s not something everyone has, and it’s hard to pass up. 

But Toronto fits better for me.  As someone who adores cities, Toronto is one of the finest urban experiences in Canada, one that only Montreal can really compete with.  Where in the West, you have proximity to jaw-dropping beauty, but are relatively isolated, in Toronto, you have oodles of quality cities within earshot.  I love the bigness of Toronto, the haphazard urbanity, the brick architecture, the fine-grained neighbourhoods knit together by endless streetcar-oriented main streets.  I love how much is going on there.  I love how big the arts scene is there, and how groups there don’t feel so niche and inbred as here.  It feels like I place I could more easily find other like-minded people, due to the critical mass of non-mainstream lifestyles.

Going back to Toronto this time was quite different from the previous 3 times.  I was offered to stay with some amazing people, and I also went fully by myself.  It was my favourite time in the city, and like I’d already said, one of the (perhaps the) best travel experience I’ve ever had.  I met up with a planning contact of mine, and discussed what it’s like working in Toronto.  I met up with other people.  I was there, working on my project, but I also let loose and let myself socialize.  The people I stayed with, I don’t really have people like them in Edmonton.  I know that sounds bad, because I really do love the people back home, but it was just different.  I was comfortable.  I connected.  I caught feelings.  The near doubling of Tinder matches was a nice cameo, too, even though I did nothing with it.  It made me begin to re-evaluate things and it all became (and still is) quite overwhelming.

The first day there, feeling so happy to be in Toronto.  But, there was this little part of me, in the back of my head, aware of how fleeting this was, and it made me sad.  As the week progressed, that only grew, until it was monumental before I left.  I started feeling this dread towards Edmonton.  This sense that staying in Edmonton for another 2-3 years would be stunting my growth, that I’d be regressing, reverting to a previous iteration of who I was.  On the flip side, I felt that by leaving Edmonton, I’d be losing a chunk of who I am.  I later realized that that person is already lost, that I am no longer that person.  I am an aspiring Torontonian.  By moving, I’d be leaving behind who I was, but becoming who I am now.  I know I’m relatively young (despite me often feeling like the crypt keeper on campus), but still, 2 or 3 years feels like a long time to put yourself on hold, just for convenience. 

Last Monday, I was on the GO Train out to Hamilton, and I just remember feeling so overwhelmed by it all.  I was up till 4am the previous night, though, which probably didn’t help (zero regrets, truly).  I was holding back tears and I feeling a weird connection with Avril Lavigne’s “I’m With You”, which I proceeded to play on repeat.  I know that sounds really dumb, but it is what it is.  I don’t care as much about how I’ll be perceived, except perhaps to the people that matter.  I think that’s a huge part of why I feel more comfortable with moving halfway across the country.  I am more assured of myself now than I was 7 years ago.  Having people I know out in Toronto is no doubt a huge help, too.

I had such an amazing last night in Toronto, too.  I was roped into riding a bicycle for the first time in 11 years, which was exhilarating.  I almost died a few times, even!  In hindsight, I’m amazed I was able to just enjoy myself, instead of crawl into a hole of despair over going back to Edmonton.  The company probably helped.  And the bicycle was a good distraction. 

Leaving Toronto on Wednesday felt just so incredibly difficult.  It was very emotional.  I didn’t want to go and part of me still wishes I just stayed, as ridiculous as that would’ve been.  I couldn’t believe I was already heading back.  For those that are wondering, this isn’t a simple situation of traveling somewhere and not wanting to get back to my real life.  It was a sense that Toronto was real life, and Edmonton was something else.  I think that’s why it felt so surreal being back in Edmonton.  I was such a mess on the plane back, ruminating in my thoughts for 4 hours.  I’m pretty sure I looked crazy to onlookers, switching between failing to hold back tears to listening to really upbeat music on my iPod (cuz it’s 2006, right?) and quasi-dancing along to it to make me feel better.  When I landed, I’d had enough of ruminating in my own thoughts, and just needed to talk to someone.  Everyone in Edmonton was still at work, or had a broken phone, or something, but luckily I was able to call Toronto back, and it calmed me down.  Now I’m filling my time with seeing people just so I don’t have to be alone in my thoughts.  Well, not just that, as I do enjoy seeing people, but it’s definitely an aspect of it.

I’m not going to lie, I’ve been a distracted mess ever since I got back (arguably even before).  Edmonton feels so off now, and I have even more trouble focusing on things than usual.  I wish I was in Toronto so much.  That trip, that experience, it brought forth a new immediacy to moving out east.  Before, it was nice and easy to assume Toronto was a few years out, and I could mentally prepare for it, and cherish Edmonton for now.  I mean, even if I don’t feel a belonging to Edmonton anymore, it really isn’t a bad city and there’s a lot of momentum here.  But now?  I don’t know what to think anymore.  If I could move tomorrow, I probably would.  What’s tiding me over right now is returning to Toronto in the summer, maybe roping in Georgian Bay or Detroit.  But I hate waiting for it.  I can’t believe I’m back here.  Why am I here?

The reaction at home to all of this has been quite interesting, too.  Some of my friends are boosting me up, in an effort to push me towards Toronto, and make it easier for me to leave.  Another referenced how I often feel behind relative to peers in life, and that moving out there, doing my thing, will perhaps cause me to catch up and grow up.  My dad feels alienated and is having a hard time relating to me right now.  Everyone seems to agree that I shouldn’t rush into this, and I really need to consider everything, and make sure I’m making the best decision for myself.

Believe me, I am not an idealist.  I am realistic when it comes to Toronto.  I know there will be challenges, there will be many things I will have to put up with that I don’t have to now.  I know I’ll have to be more responsible.  I know, even though some amazing people exist in my life in Toronto, I know far less people there.  I’m even aware there will be challenges to moving and living there that I can’t perceive of right now.  I know Toronto is expensive.  I know it’s hot as balls in the summer.  But I don’t care.  I feel like those challenges and sacrifices are worth the move.  Everyone seems to think I’ll probably be happier out there, because let’s be real, I don’t really fit in with Albertan culture.  A friend once referred to me as a “wannabe Laurentian,” referencing how my values and orientation mimic more of an Ontarian or Quebecois, despite growing up in the West.  To quote another friend, I “belong” in Toronto.  I’m not sure I’d go that extreme, as I don’t think people necessarily belong to anything, but the sentiment resonates nonetheless.

I also know it’ll be hard to leave Edmonton behind.  One of the biggest things that kept me here for so long was the people.  I think my childhood best friend moving to Seoul earlier this year really did a number on me for that.  It was hard seeing her go, but I realized, if she’s willing to leave, isn’t willing to hold herself from growing by leaving, nor should I.  People aren’t sticking around for me, and they shouldn’t, and nor should I.  People here have said they’ll miss me, but that I shouldn’t stay here for their sake.  As well, I’ve witnessed with my friend that we’ve been able to stay in touch quite well.  It’s not the same as having her physically here, but we message each other often, and video chat every couple of weeks.  With a little bit of effort, I can stay in touch with people here.  And I know I’ll visit.  And people can visit me.  One of my friends already expressed how much fun she thinks visiting me in Toronto would be.  I wish I could be this cool about people I love leaving me.

It’s still scary, the thought of moving, and it still makes me emotional.  But aren’t these life-defining crossroads what make life worth living?  Isn’t this the sort of shit that invigorates people?  Isn’t this the stuff you write stories about?  One day I’ll be old and dead and I’ll be looking back on this, and I really hope I’m looking back on me taking this risk, rather than chickening out yet again.  I really, really want to, even though this is all causing me a lot of anxiety.  Maybe by writing this out there is now an official record of this predicament, and it’ll force me to hold myself to it, rather than settle on life out of convenience.  I know at some point this intense feeling will mellow, but I hope the drive is still there.  I really, really do.  It broke my heart enough having to come back to Edmonton.  I don’t want that to be in vein. 

I don’t even mind the humidity that much anymore.  Being back in Edmonton, I’m complaining about how chapped my lips are from the dryness.  But I’m also complaining about not having a very frequent streetcar a block away and how I’m not with the people out there. 

I still don’t have a game plan.  I still have no idea what I’m going to do.  It was suggested that, regardless of what I end up doing, I should research what exactly it would take to move out there now, rather than after undergrad.  I’m gonna try and start that tonight, if all goes according to plan, which rarely happens in life.  Case in point: my trip to Toronto last week.

Fear of Missing Out -- it’s a phrase that has really come to the fore in the last several years and is something quite relatable to a lot of young people.  It’s fairly self-explanatory on a fundamental level, but it’s generally used in relation to social media these days.  Due to it, FOMO can create a paradigm of constantly checking messages and social media, for fear of missing out on something.  It’s a form of social anxiety surrounding a worry that others are having fun while you aren’t.

It’s something I’ve become more aware of over the past year, and it’s something that would accurately describe myself since over the past 4 years.  2014 was a major seismic shift in my life.  I really opened up and became more ‘socialized’, where previously I was quite closed off and socially anxious.  I’ve learned a lot as a result of things that were set in motion that year, and the trends that began then still seem to reverberate through to today.  We were discussing in one of my classes science as something that generally tries to keep the status quo, and then has revolutions, which set up a new order, and then that order is upheld as the new status quo, and there are strong efforts to maintain it.  It goes against the idea of science not being ceremonial or biased, but I think there’s merit to it.  2014 was like a personal revolution for me, and a new order was set up, which has been maintained with amendments since. 

I got a smartphone, I befriended a lot of people, I started using more social media besides Tumblr.  This is where the FOMO started, in hindsight.  For a long time, I really wanted to be less lonely, and in 2014, it felt like that was finally changing, and I really went off into that world, before thinking about the people I was letting into my life.  To be sure, I was naive, and I learnt things from those experiences, so it wasn’t a fruitless endeavour.  I wanted to hang out, to go out, to do everything, as much as possible.  After being very closed off since around 2008, when I started high school, I was letting myself experience things and trying to break free from my social anxiety.

Unfortunately, as I alluded to, a lot of the people I let into my life weren’t exactly the best fits.  In most cases, these people aren’t actually bad people or anything, it’s just their personalities rubbed me the wrong way.  I have a low tolerance for flakey, and yet a lot of flakes seem to be attracted to me like moths to a flame.  Despite this, I kept with these people.  In some cases, it boiled over and I couldn’t bear it any more and abrupt falling outs occurred, whereas in others, we just grew apart.  In a lot of cases of growing apart, it was simply me no longer initiating.  I also notice people who don’t know how to initiate seem to like befriending me, which is exhausting over time.  So, when I get exhausted, we stop being hanging out, which isn’t right, but it is what it is.

In this time, I found this unhealthy attachment to social media and allowing it to compare my life to others.  I’d see friends or acquaintances out, having a good time, and end up feeling shitty about my life.  I’d respond to messages from people who didn’t necessarily deserve prompt messages, because I’d fear missing out on maintaining that relationship.  I’d accept most invitations because I wouldn’t want to miss out on having a good time.  I think I became more interested in the idea of going out than actually going out.  That is probably due to the type of going out I was doing, with the type of people I was doing it with.  Not to say I didn’t enjoy going out, but I recognize sometimes I was just stuffing my schedule for the sake of stuffing it, to appear popular (something I never was), and it didn’t necessarily make me feel better.  Due to the often precarious relationships I was stuck in, I was left perpetually yearning for newer, better relationships.

Fast forward to Winter 2016-17, when everything felt like it was falling apart.  To keep with the earlier reference, perhaps this was also another personal revolution.  2016 and especially 2017 definitely shook things up once again.  A lot of things fell apart, loved ones passed on, previously strong relationships faltered, I started my degree, I started my Canada project, I even switched to Android for a week.  On paper, I think 2016 looks like a more powerful year, but emotionally, I feel 2017 was the more powerful of the two.  The winter betwixt the two was a poignant nadir, when everything felt like it was going to shit, and it was causing me a great deal of despair.  From those ashes, I befriended a couple new people, and I actually felt like I was finally set.  No longer would I have to yearn for more, or better, at least in terms of friendship.   I thought I’d finally found “my people”.  That didn’t hold up.  While they’re still around, and I still love them, let’s just say they didn’t end up as my Ezra and Emma in Perks of Being a Wallflower.  I felt a fleeting contentedness for parts of last summer, and I honestly don’t remember my FOMO being much of an issue.  Of course, I still had issues going on, something my friends can corroborate, but it felt relatively ok.  I guess happiness is always fleeting.

Fast forward to this past winter, and I think my FOMO-derived want to meet people and do stuff hit its apex.  December was exceptionally bad.  I had one entirely free day to myself the entire Christmas break -- the day before classes resumed.  It was a combination of seeing friends that I missed and way too many dates.  Can I just point out the obvious and say it is extremely time-consuming and exhaustive trying to get to know over a dozen new people in roughly the same time period?  Never again.  And I knew it was going to drain me, but I wanted to meet these people, I wanted to reconnect with friends, and I ranked “being social” higher than keeping a balance for my own sanity.  On some level, perhaps I wanted to present that image on social media that I envied on others -- the happy, social, vibrant life, even though I’m not extroverted.  Then I started seeing someone over January, and then that fizzled into February.  That in and of itself took a lot of time, and although I’m willing to put effort into a relationship, in hindsight it wasn’t placed on the right person.

After that fell apart, I think I finally broke my FOMO.  I started becoming more anti-social, and I stopped giving a fuck.  I stopped checking my phone as often to see if I missed anything and I stopped wanting to initiate with most people.  From time to time, I’d stop initiating with people anyway, which is why I didn’t speak anything of it, but this is actually lasting much longer now than it normally does.  I’m just so done with putting up with people who don’t appreciate me or respect me.  I just don’t have the energy for it and I don’t want to have to put on a veneer of “going out, having a good time” either in-person or on social media to feel venerated.  I’m at the point where I am being a bit more social again, and I am seeing friends, but it is still sparse, and I’m still taking time for myself.  That was actually a huge deal for me over Reading Week, when I actually had days for myself, unlike the Christmas break.  For a long time, I was truly selective with whom I wanted in my life, but, for lack of better options, I kept people around I shouldn’t have.  Now, I think that selectiveness is being actively put forth.  I’d rather spend time with myself than spend time with toxic personalities.  I don’t care all that much to keep propping up relationships that put zero effort into me.  I don’t like burning bridges or letting things fade, and it’s sad to think of how things are no longer as they once were, but I’m learning to let go.  There still are some relationships that I probably should sever, but I don’t have many alternatives.

Of course, I’m still lonely.  I think that’s the paradox of the post-2014 me.  I may have people around me, but the net result is the same.  I still yearn for a stronger cohort of people, for a partner, for people who respect me and are “my kind of people.”  I’m still looking for my Ezra and Emma.  I do have some good people in my life, and I guess if you want to split hairs, I’m less lonely than 5 years ago, but I still feel that agonizing hopelessness rotting at my core.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Toronto lately.  Since I first set foot in that city in post-grad 2011, I’ve had a strong emotional resonance with it.  As a lover of cities, art, and culture, it’s only real competitor in Canada is Montreal, and my lacklustre French disallows that from being a formidable option.  It has the history, the character, the urbanism that I hope Edmonton one day has.  It was also the first true big city I visited.  I know a lot of Western Canadians will say similar of Vancouver, but honestly Vancouver doesn’t feel that bustling and big.  My first night in Toronto, 2011, walking along Yonge St on a Friday night, how electric it all felt -- it felt trippy, like I was in the music video for “Da Funk” by Daft Punk (1996).   I long focused on these attributes whenever I contemplated moving there.  But lately I’ve been thinking about Toronto in a different vein.  Mostly, I’m fed up with the inbred dating pool in Edmonton, and in Toronto there’s just so many more people, so many more options for connection, whether romantic or platonic.  I actually know more people in Toronto these days than Vancouver, which is kind of counter-intuitive.  So perhaps my FOMO hasn’t actually disappeared, it’s just latched onto something new (or rather old, considering this has been around in some fashion since 2011).  I fear missing out on the greater opportunities for connection for someone like myself in a big, diverse city.  I’m self-aware enough to know I’m distinct and complicated, and don’t toe the mainstream line, and so I know I won’t fit with most people, but in a big city the numbers increase for someone like me. I don’t deny it wouldn’t still be hard there to find good people for me, but the numbers are more in my favour where there is more of a critical mass of “alternative” people.  Whether or not I actually make the move -- I don’t know.  One of my friends speaks of me moving to Toronto one day as inevitable, as there’d be far more opportunity for someone like me there.

I’ve gone through phases with Edmonton.  I went from huge civic booster to extremely critical to actually having an appreciative balanced look at the city.  I don’t think Edmonton’s a bad place; I think it’s made the most of the cards it’s been dealt and it has exciting potential.  I could just stay put; it’s easier.  But even the good relationships I have here, a lot of them have moved or are contemplating moving, and so it just further begs the question of why I’m bothering to stick around.  My usual excuse is for the people, but if they’re jumping around, why shouldn’t I?  Maybe I’ll stitch together an Edmonton expat community in Toronto. 

I think I also apply FOMO to the past.  I fear I’ve missed out in my life, because I was too lazy or uncomfortable or something else happened.  I didn’t have a really great high school experience, and missed out on a lot of quintessential high school experiences that I ended up doing in early adulthood.  Sometimes I think about how it would’ve been different if I actually accepted people when they reached out to me back then, instead of stubbornly being a recluse.  I don’t know if I’d still be in touch with such people, but I know I’d have been more well-rounded and able to take on the world if I did.  This might be part of why I like high school movies too, I can live vicariously through them.

And then I think about the post-grad era, 2011-2014.  Even though this is a complete dramatization, I sometimes think of those years as wasted.  I didn’t do much besides work.  I could’ve done so much more.  I still think about why the hell I didn’t go back to school sooner.  The obvious answer is that I wasn’t ready, and that’s ok, but I still feel like if I could go back and talk to myself, I’d still try and nudge myself into going back sooner.  Sure, planning school wasn’t around, but if I’d known about human geography, I could’ve dicked around with that for a couple years and then switched into planning.  Hindsight is 20/20.  I couldn’t have known all this then.  Everyone I talk to about how I took 5 years before heading back to school reassures me that there’s nothing wrong with taking time to go back, and I get it objectively.  Still, I can’t help shake how foolish I was to waste those prime years not really experiencing life.  At least I have a clear vision of what I want and I’m endeavouring towards it, something many 18 year olds in post-secondary don’t have, I suppose.  Doesn’t make me feel better, though.

Over the past week, I’ve seen 3 films that both had a tendency for commas in their titles as well as really opened up the emotional wounds -- Love, Simon (2018); Girl, Interrupted (1999); and The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012).  The most recent was Perks, which I watched today, hence the references.   The film struck a chord because I saw a lot of myself in the main character.  I too am a wallflower, and I especially was back then, and although he fared better in high school than I did, there was a lot of familiarity in his loneliness and shyness and awkwardness. I still remember walking past the Princess in 2012, when it was playing in theatres and I now get nostalgic.  I can’t believe I’m actually nostalgic over the early 2010s.  I was young, I still had so many avenues I could pursue, my age cohort was at the forefront of ‘youth’.   Things were simpler.  Maybe I’m just jealous of how easier things seemed then, how limitless it still felt. 

I think about visiting Car at uni, during her breaks.  I think about HUB Mall, and that time I took a candid photo and the recipient freaked out therein or that time she explained the cinnamon challenge (take that, Tide pods).  I think about getting lost following her to class in Tory Lecture.  About discussing Silver Linings Playbook in CAB.  This was my time.  My time to be in university.  I missed out.  Sure, I did eventually go back, but I waited long enough that even the eldest members in my class still tend to be younger than me.  Age isn’t everything, and perhaps I look too harshly at it, but I can’t help but feel ancient.  I can’t help but feel behind in life compared to my cohort.  It just doesn’t feel the same.  And I can’t help but think about how nice it would’ve been to be in uni at the same time as her.

At the time, I was too busy being nostalgic over the 1990s -- an era I barely knew.  That’s right, kids, before ‘90s streetwear took over, I was hyping up how utterly rad the ‘90s were!  I lamented not being born a decade earlier, so I could’ve truly experienced the ‘90s in their entirety.  I was really into the original waves of alternative and indie rock from the ‘80s and especially the ‘90s.  It’s sort of funny that as I’m writing this, I’m listening to the music I listened to from 2010-2013, and it reminds me of that time.  Music released in 1991 reminds me of 2012.  Listening to “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” reminds me of the Jack Layton vigil I went to in Summer 2011.  I swore I’d never get nostalgic over the 2010s.  Then again, I never thought I’d be lusting after the late ‘90s Freddie Prinze Jr aesthetic, and yet here we are.  So I’m nostalgic over the early 2010s, which was when I was nostalgic over the 1990s.  One day I’m sure I’ll be nostalgic over this era, and lament how I didn’t just fucking appreciate it.

This fear that I missed out in my late teens and early twenties, and this anxiety it causes me today, and this sense of being ancient in university, and how life is passing me by, I think it relates to how I feel like I’m not on the same path with my age cohort as I am used to being, as they move onto careers and “adulting”, and I’m at home learning about how the University of Calgary started as a branch campus of the University of Alberta.  I feel perhaps that via that waning connection with my age cohort, I’m losing apart of myself in the process.  That connection to who I am, to who I was, to the people who grew up in the same time.  To the people who actually remember Tamagotchi and 9/11.

That’s as close as I’ve been able to get to coming to the crux of it.  A friend recently mentioned how language simplifies things, but through that simplification it is harder to be truly understood.  That debasing means that what is understood is inadequate.  It really resonated with me.  So I’m not sure if what I’m saying is making sense, nor am I really certain we can ever fully convey how we are feeling in words.  Feelings seem infinite, beyond expression, and words seem quintessentially finite by comparison.

On some level, I just miss my best friend, and the uncertainty that comes with her being halfway across the world.  I feel like life has passed me by.  I took too long to figure things out.  Sometimes I just want to go back to being a kid, so I don’t have to deal with all this shit.  No fear of missing out.  No feeling old.  Nothing really to be nostalgic over yet.  Before she left, Car and I hung out a fair bit.  With her newly acquired license, she would accompany driving with hooking up her iPod for listening, and I was generally the disc jockey.  She has the Pavement and Queen I got for her on there, something that stands out among the K-Pop and Beyonce.  I can’t help now but think of her singing along to Pavement’s “Westie Can Drum” and Queen’s iconic “Bohemian Rhaposdy” now and of those easier, seemingly boundless days of the early 2010s, which feel pissed away.   Of course, I’m candy-coating that time.  My loneliness and hopelessness was so much more dire then.  Sad to say, that hasn’t really changed in the intervening years -- it’s only gotten more complex and greyed.

This post is a lot deeper and more personal than I’ve done previously, despite some of my posts have teetered more personal as of late.  Someone recently told me how they appreciated my candour here, and I didn’t even realize it resonated with anyone, and it’s given me the push to be willing to publish something like this.  If you didn’t get any of this, maybe you’ll appreciate my playlist for this post, very circa 2012 Tyler, a time during which I spent way too much time on music forums trying to figure out “good” music and distancing myself from 21st century music.  It contrasts heavily with the more high energy, electronic music I err towards now.

Perhaps one day I’ll learn to just appreciate the now, and not fuss over what others are doing or what I could’ve been doing years ago.

Yes, I realize it sounds a bit hyperbolic.  And to be fair, Calgary is still through and through a Canadian city, especially aesthetically, but there is still something about it that deviates from the Canadian narrative, and I’ve been thinking about it a bit lately. 

For one, there is more of an entrepreneurial spirit to Calgary, and with that a true sense that Calgary doesn’t need the government.  This is perhaps a reaction to Edmonton getting the perks of government from the get-go.  I once talked with a former Calgarian about this, one of the few that actually has admitted to preferring Edmonton.  He gave this story, proclaimed as quintessentially Calgary, of when he was growing up down there, and got invited into this upper middle class mansion for reasons that elude me now.  The couple that owned the mansion went on and on about how hard they worked to get where they are, and now have this huge house stuffed with stuff, trying to instill in the guy a sense of “you too can have this if you work hard enough for yourself.“  The idea that nobody helped them get where they are was heavily implied, and they just had fabulous work ethic to bring them success.  It all sounded very American to me, and fits Calgary’s glossy nouveau-riche preponderances.  Is it all just because Edmonton was a closer ally to Ottawa and was able to snag both the university and legislature?

Perhaps, but there’s also something to the history of Calgary, which also sort of deviates from the Canadian norm.  For starters, the settlement patterns of Alberta go against the normal grain of settling areas close to the American border first, and then spreading north.  Alberta’s first settlement was actually Fort Chip in 1788, way up at the edge of Northeastern Alberta.  Edmonton is also about 80 years older than Calgary.  Of course none of that 80 year lead exists in Edmonton today.  The reasons for this were that Southern Alberta was controlled by the Blackfoot, who did not wish to engage in the fur trade with the British, and had the power to keep them out for a time.  By the time Rupert’s Land was handed over to Canada in the 1870s, no Canadians actually lived in what is now Southern Alberta.  A crazy thought, no?  As this area was more sparsely populated, the first European settlers tended to be bandits and misfits, which also sort of fits into the American Wild West theme.  It helps the dry high prairie and foothills geography of the region also flows nicely with that American West theme, as does the ranching culture that ended up there (vs traditional farming in the Parkland belt).

By the 1870s, the Americans had begun encroaching on the Southern Prairies, perhaps as part of the Manifest Destiny.  They began selling alcohol to the Blackfoot in exchange for furs at what is now Lethbridge.  In retaliation, the Canadians tried to settle the area more aggressively, and Calgary was born, as a North West Mounted Police outpost.  This deviates strongly from the fur trading, Hudson’s Bay Company derived history of Edmonton and Winnipeg, and much of the Prairies.  There was a strong history of Americans (and not the Loyalist variety they got down east) settling in Southern Alberta, and that also contributed some to the deviating culture there.  The French Canadian element is also noticeably absent in Calgary (though this is also the case in BC), whereas Northern Alberta has a smattering of Francophone towns, and Edmonton has a French Quarter.

Perhaps as a mixture of these influences, Calgary’s politics also differ more strongly from the Canadian median than Edmonton’s or Northern Alberta’s do.  The UofC was the hotbed of poli sci profs that influenced the rise of the uber-right-wing Reform Party in the late 20th century, something that would likely not have emerged elsewhere in the country, and probably the closest Canada ever got to American-style conservatism.  The Calgary School lived on after the demise of the Reform in Stephen Harper and Ezra Levant.  It’s ironic too, that despite the lack of government focus in Calgary, the ruling party of Alberta for four decades, the PCs, was a decidedly Calgary-centric party.  Yes, we had Ed Stelmach as Premier, but it was largely defined by a Calgary and Southern Alberta base, and the bigger party influencers were people like Klein and Lougheed.  The Notley government highlights a very significant change, in that the provincial government is actually Edmonton-centric for the first time in decades.  This is much to the chagrin of Calgarians, used to being more central in the minds of government.  Though in looking at the irony of Calgary influencing government, it could be argued the Reform and the (provincial) PCs ensured the government was keeping their economic interests at heart, and not over-regulating the market.

Furthermore, Alberta’s energy industry initially got major investment from the US, as Central Canada deemed it too expensive to invest in Alberta.  These resources weren’t even Alberta’s to fully exploit until we were given full control over our resources in the ‘30s (like every province except Saskatchewan).  Edmonton and Northern Alberta clearly are very entwined in the energy industry, but in Calgary, it takes on a more high-end business look; it’s all very Dallas. With that said, shared economic interests is probably the main reason Northern and Southern Albertans seem to vote like one large block to other Canadians, voting largely for the CPC in Federal elections.

I just finished watching the highly acclaimed “San Junipero” episode of Black Mirror.  My god, what a beautifully put together piece of art.  The aesthetics, the cinematography, the acting, the story, everything was utterly top notch.  It was quite moving and unexpectedly sweet in its ending.

Of the many things I loved in the epsiode, I’ve been really ruminating over the early dialogue from the 1987 section, at the dance club, where everybody looked overwhelmingly ‘80s.  Like, too ‘80s.  I obviously wasn’t around in the ‘80s, but based on accounts from people who did live then that I know, as well as looking at actual photographs and the like from then, of actual people, and how they lived, it did seem almost caricatured.  Then there was the line of (and I’m paraphrasing) “everyone looks like they saw it in a movie,” it being the attire of everyone in the club.  It’s true.  The gateway to eras one wasn’t apart of for a lot of people is in the pop culture, such as movies, which can gloss over or hyperbolize reality.  There’s also a tendency in nostalgic aesthetic preferences to pluck the most “standout” (yet still aesthetically pleasing -- nothing too outrageous) to hone in on an era.  Were the ‘80s really that ‘80s, or was the San Junipero version was basically cliche? Beyond that, while it was ostensibly 1987 in San Junipero, the social attitudes of the denizens therein seemed a bit more 21st century.  The 1987 was not a true 1987, but merely a shallow imitation, not unlike a throwback night at your local dance club.  Perhaps that was the point, it was a digital simulation, after all, filled with people decades into the future.

I was hanging out with a friend recently, and we had some 2010s smooth techno playing on YouTube.  The video made me say to them, “man, it really is the ‘90s.”  The aesthetic choices (especially fashion) were ripped right from 199x, and yet, the artist didn’t look like they were old enough to actually remember the ‘90s.  I could be wrong of course, but there’s no question that the ‘90s are the nostalgic focus of this decade, following the 20 year trend of nostalgia (ie the ‘00s were focused on the ‘80s, and the ‘90s were focused on the ‘70s).  And in 2018, today’s teens were born, at latest, in mid-1998, and therefore too young to actually remember the era they’re appropriating.  The ‘90s to a kid today is about vintage Champion tees and thin-framed glasses and less about dial-up ‘net and the Clinton sex scandal.  And I don’t mean this judgmentally -- rather it is just a matter of fact.  You could say the same thing about my time and the ‘80s.  In fact if you remember that 2000s hipster kitty meme, I distinctly remember one of the taglines being “the ‘80s were awesome” and below it read “born in 1991.”

I guess it all begs the question of what do we really know of the past?  Yes, we lived in an advanced technological age, where vast archives of our lives are accumulating with each passing year.  I read a while ago about this couple who lived on one of those islands in the Puget Sound near Seattle, attempting to live an authentically 19th century existence, from their transportation choices to their wardrobe to everything.  They’d done extensive research in order to get a true feeling for the Victorian era, reading newspapers, personal accounts, literature, the whole thing.  So, to an extent, provided we keep an archive, we can know of the modern past, anyway.  But further back it’s harder.  One of Aristotle’s books was lost after the fall of the Roman Empire, and who knows how revolutionary it would’ve been on Western civilization.  One day our archives may go through a similar beating as the Classical archives did in the Middle Ages.

My point is that most people are not going to go in-depth to become a living, breathing period piece like the aforementioned Washington State couple.  For most of us, we get our cues from pop culture, and thus get a Cole’s Notes edition of the past, which blurs further and further, as time goes on, to fewer highlights.  Or at least for those that never lived in the time, which also increases as time goes on.  And even if you do extensive research, it can never fully replace the feeling of having actually lived through an era, especially as it is happening, without knowledge of what is to come.  Despite our best attempts, human ideas and feelings are often too abstract and what we record visually, literally, sonically, whatever, is merely a stripped down version that can’t fully encapsulate the endless abstraction of what it means to be a human in a particular time and place.  We may get 90, 95, maybe even 99% of the way there, but we can’t ever fully know without having lived it. 

So, I guess, the 1987 of San Junipero is a realization of that reality.  We get our cues from the movies, so we think everyone in the ‘80s lived like an ‘80s movie.  Not to say that that our appropriation of past aesthetics is inaccurate, just very curated, and at times shallow.  Obviously shoulder pads and jean jackets were a fixture of ‘80s fashion, but a lot of social issues and personal inclinations of the ‘80s were glossed over in ‘80s film (and in other eras) and so when we look to film, it is often not the whole picture of what an era was like.  Actually, I find newer “period piece” type films that look back at past eras can sometimes pick up on these things better, as we’ve had time to let the things that occurred in that time to absorb and be reflected upon.  It took a few years for AIDS to show up in film, for example.  It doesn’t always work, though.  Like, I think most people today get a sense of the ‘80s from Stranger Things, and while the aesthetics are on point, as are the supernatural inclinations of media, aside from some cheap homophobic slurs early on, it feels more like a set of people with 2010s values plopped into the 1980s.

I suppose more fundamentally, as time stretches forward, the past, even for those that lived it, just becomes a story we play back to ourselves, distorting and contorting, as our memory slowly fails us.  Thank god we’re uploading our personalities online, right?  Because Instagram is obviously an authentic look at how we live today. In 50 years, I swear people will still be trying to understand the hashtag “livefolk.” I guess it doesn’t matter that much anyway.  As the popular internet saying goes, “I’m here for a good time, not a long time,” hitting at the core of the absurdist inclinations of internet culture today.  Still, it is sad for me to think of all that we’ve known from our collective lives, just withering into oblivion, and our archive a mere ersatz edition of the true past, a vain attempt to preserve something that cannot be preserved.

Music selections:

It’s interesting thinking about how the roles of Edmonton and Calgary reversed on the national stage.  It seemed to occur during the ‘80s, because by the time the ‘90s rolled around, Edmonton was decidedly sad and submissive vis-a-vis the hegemon to the south.  It’s sort of like a miniature version of the more folkloric Toronto and Montreal switcheroo that occurred over the ‘70s and ‘80s. 

Of course, Calgary and Edmonton were always quite close in size, even if Edmonton was the larger until the turn of the millennium.  But then again, contrary to popular belief, so were Toronto and Montreal.  The former surpassed the 1 million mark back in the ‘40s not long after the latter.  But of course, Montreal was the clear national primate city, and the legacy of which is something palpable in the built form (Toronto’s older building stock is definitely more parochial).

In the early ‘80s, Calgary may have had the taller buildings and proximity to Banff, but Edmonton had hosted the Commonwealth and Universiade Games, became the first city in North America to spawn modern light rail, built West Ed, had Gretzky and the Oilers, the media offices, a fair share of corporate offices, in addition to having the government and fancier university (though UofC has arguably had a larger impact on Canadian politics).  Edmonton was the chief city here, and the one people knew about much more obviously outside of Alberta than Calgary.

Then the Olympics happened, we lost Gretzky, and the Klein government happened.  By 1990, it seems as though Calgary caught up and surpassed Edmonton psychologically, and within a decade, would do the same in terms of population as well.

January’s past, and now we’re really into 2018.  But don’t remind me of that, I have enough reasons to feel ancient these days.  Though this year will be apt, as I can make the quarter life crisis I’ve been having since 2014 more official.  The first month brought yet more failures at dating.  The frontrunner of the past month-ish and I decided to try and be friends, though, so I guess that’s nice.  Definitely haven’t had that opportunity with most of the people I’ve dated.  It still stings, though.

But that’s not really what sparked me writing in here.  January was actually not a bad month for me.  Hell, even Christmas wasn’t bad -- the first decent one in years.  Even having to deal with the one year anniversary of Hunter -- tough -- but January was ok.  Maybe it’s because I was letting someone in past a couple dates for a change, I don’t know. 

I was reflective in January, and perhaps it’s seeping into February.  I kept comparing my state now to a year ago.  A year ago, when everything felt like it was giving way to despair and hopelessness, and nobody seemed bothered to try and lift me up.  Early 2018 is ostensibly better than Early 2017, as pretentious as that sounds.

There was one bit of sad news in January, and that’s why I’m writing here.  I realized today (Feb 5) marks exactly two weeks before my childhood best friend, someone who’s been in my life nearly 20 years now, is moving halfway across the world for years.  It came abruptly, in mid-January, and it’s been a lot to process.  “I’m happy for her, but sad for me” is how I’d explain it.  Maybe I should’ve went to Vancouver this past weekend; awful as the timing was, it still would’ve been nice.

I think I’m just flabbergasted.

You know, I used to be a lot more veiled in my online presence.  Maybe it’s palpable in my writing here.  Before, I’d never give out my name, then it was a big deal using my last name, then posting a photo of myself.  Now?  I just don’t care.  So much of my life has been ruled by concern for others and how they’ll perceive me, and although I’m not perfect at thwarting it, I do genuinely find it a waste of time, in most cases.  We’re only here so long, and life throws enough shit at you as it is, we may as well not make it harder on ourselves by worrying about what Carol will think of our new skirt.  Or, more seriously, putting ourselves in toxic situations with no reward, just out of obligation.  I try and seek out enjoyment as much as possible.  So maybe I don’t eat my broccoli and maybe I do sometimes have dessert first.  It doesn’t matter, at the end of the day, so why not just choose the more enjoyable path?  I find it helps with the daily dredge of life, anyway. 

I think I’m open more now, partly because I do find it helpful sharing, but also because I am obsessed with archives.  I recently told a friend a story over text, in far greater detail than I normally would’ve, and his response was “40 unread messages, the fuck?”  Reasonable response.  I did it for myself, as I wanted to screenshot what I’d typed out for my own archive of my story.  I’ve tried doing the journal thing, but I find after telling a few friends a story, I don’t feel like typing or writing it out for myself yet again, so this is my way of circumventing that, I suppose. 

I do this because I want to remember.  I know one day my memory will fade, and become distorted, and the past will just be a story I tell myself, unknown of what I’d lost or exaggerated or added in the process.  That’s also part of why I photograph, to freeze time, and archive things for future.  Of course, despite it’s more literal aesthetic, photography does have its own abstractions as well.  It’s really an exercise in futility, and once I’m dead, nobody will care anyway.  Oh well, it feeds my penchant for nostalgia.

Now, I’ve successfully wasted an hour typing this out because I got “shook” realizing it’s now two weeks to the day she leaves, when I have an assignment due tomorrow.  It’s not even a hard assignment, and it’s based on an interesting read, although on something I was already aware of -- mainly that progress is not linear, and that technology does not necessarily make our lives easier.  But, a lot of people assume that we’ve had a linear trajectory (at least in the West), because, on certain scales, it has been so since the Renaissance.  Although there are different ways do suggest progress.  Medieval cities were cleaner than 19th century cities, for example.  I digress.

Anyway, it’ll be interesting how the next couple weeks go.  Maybe I’ll freak and book an impromptu flight to London, like I’ve been contemplating.  I do really want to do more writing this year, though.  I started an essay about a week ago, and because I had so much rumbling in the background, it turned into something quite formidable, but it’s still incomplete.  We’ll see.

“And this is the chance I never got to make a move. But we just talk about the people we've met in the last 5 years. And will remember them in ten more? I let you bum a smoke, you quit this winter past. I've tried twice before but like this, it just will not last.”

-- Death Cab for Cutie: Steadier Footing (2001)

Today, this sappy-ass song popped back into my head.  I hadn’t listened to it in awhile, as I’m no longer an avid listener of Death Cab, but I’m pretty sure I can pinpoint, on some ethereal level, what brought it forth.  I do like the song, short as it may be, and it’s one that has, over the years, remained redolent vis-a-vis my moods.

I was talking with a friend about synthesia recently, and although I don’t have that, it reminded me of how profound music can be for me -- it is often the soundtrack of my life, providing a means of transporting back to another time.  It’s that Cassie song bringing me back to being driven to grade school, bullies awaiting.  It’s that Arcade Fire song, reminding me of a romance that was never to be.  It’s that utter shite Gretchen Wilson song, reminding me of summers trapped at my mom’s.  I kinda laugh at that last one now.  It’s not always sad, though.  Like, there’s that Midnight Oil song, reminding me of a good road trip with a good friend.  Or listening to the Pixies’ Bossanova while out in the bitter cold in Griesbach.  Or that Bay City Rollers song my grandma would sing along to, but with the muffled 1970s recording, I couldn’t fully make out. 

That being said, I find that when music moves me in such a way, so as to resonate years later still, it’s generally in a more melancholic way.  Maybe it’s something to do with how negative things tend to stick better.  I’m not sure.

Right now, I’m thinking about a friendship once stronger, now a series of messages left sans response.  Perhaps it was always like that, and now I’m no longer willing to prop it up.  Or that one where I foolishly thought things would be different, and now I guess they are, but in a completely different way.  We’ll still be in each others lives, but not in the same capacity, and that’s kind of sad.  Those prospects, those hopes, all for naught.  What’s the point anyways?  Like that scene from Oslo, August 31st, eventually they’ll all “vanish into motherhood” (or fatherhood, or marriage, or whatever).  Perhaps I just am realizing I’m no longer the shiny new thing, or that they’re not.

It all makes me think about that Death Cab song.  Except, even if I made a move, it was pointless.  And with all the toxic relationships over the past several years, with all of the people I’ve met over that period, that have come, and gone, will I even remember them a decade from now?  Knowing me, probably, but that’s besides the point.  Life is so fleeting, and it’s kind of sad how much something so good can turn so rotten.  I know it’s not just them, I too am equally fleeting.  I am not static, I am constantly changing as I go through life.  That overlap I may have had with someone just won’t necessarily last.  Or, there’s those cases where I’ve wished that I’d met that person at a different point, when things would’ve ostensibly been better.

Innocuously enough, a friend mentioned PostSecret recently, and it led met to the All-American Rejects.  It transported me back to 2006, a time of John Tucker Must Die, SexyBack, Blogger, and Guyliner; a time that was shit even beyond the pop culture.  And yet, I get weirdly nostalgic about it.  Like, remember when Ashanti was still relevant?  And then I remember that was 11 years ago already, and I get hit in the gut by existentialism.  It’s so weird to think of that era having been that long ago, and that I’m really as old as I am.  I’m so used to that time being so much more recent.  And then I realize that relatively staid 2013 was 4-going-on-5 years ago.  I joined Tumblr 5 years ago already (late ‘12).  And then I realize how quickly it’s gone by, and soon it’ll be 2023, I’ll be 30, and it just keeps speeding up from there on out.  As you can see, it just spirals as the knots get bigger and bigger.  But I guess you’re not really living unless you’re also dying, right?

This is probably why I’ve moved away from the melancholic indie rock that I held so dear in the former half of this decade and towards more high energy, danceable music.  Grimes, even in more serious lyrics, because of the different tone, makes me happier to listen to than Pavement.  Music has a tendency to draw me in emotionally, and at this point in my life, I have enough things to bog me down, without music beating a dead horse.  Plus, it fits my newly minted absurdist personality, I suppose.

The funny thing with depression, I’ve found, is that support isn’t at all like Hollywood portrays it as.  In most cases, you’re not going to get that back-and-forth of the depressed pushing back while the friend or family member fights against it, with the intent of getting to the bottom of things.  Nope, usually if you push back once, people peace the fuck out.  Sometimes you don’t even need to push back.  Sometimes they’ll just get up and leave, citing the aforementioned domestic life that beckons.  Sometimes you’ll get tips for how to harm yourself better or you’ll be told to “grow up,” because, you know, bulimia is so ‘87.  And not by out of touch old people, by bona fide peers.  Granted, in my case, these people meant no harm, and to put it bluntly, they just fucked up with a lapse in judgement.  I don’t hate them.  I think my point is that, if there’s anyone out there in a rough patch, as awful as it sounds, you can’t rely on others to come to you, or to necessarily think pushing away will work like it does in the dramas.  Maybe it will, but I wouldn’t rely on it.  In my experience, you have to swallow your pride, and ask for help directly.

I really wanted to write more this year.  I have had ideas bouncing around my head for awhile, including one, funnily enough, around music!  There was just so much this year.  So much loss.  So much bullshit.  But it hasn’t been all bad.  This past summer I actually had some semblance of happiness for the first time in awhile.  It was, of course, fleeting, as happiness always is, and there was still grievances to deal with, but it wasn’t bad.  I attribute much of the good in 2017 (and a few headaches, to be honest) to two new people I befriended this year, at a very low point in my life.  They filled the vacuum left by loss in a very beautiful way and, even as life moves on, I’m very glad they’re there.  I also have surrounded myself with other good people this year, that overall are better than the roster I had a year or two ago.  So, I guess, silver linings.

So, in yet another bout of procrastination from my studies, I found a link via Facebook to an insightful article on Gen Z (or iGen), and sort of just immersed into it.  The article goes to great lengths to describe the incoming generation’s mindset and how it’s penchant for mobile phones and social media is destroying their mental health, which made me ponder my own life.

I know I’ve talked about Gen Z before, and my dealings with them, comparing them to my generation, the infamous Millennials.  I probably came off as smug.  To be sure, a lot of the things associated with Gen Z, even things that came to the fore with my generation, aren’t things I’m really enamoured by, but they aren’t the fault of Gen Z any more than they are the fault of Millennials.  I’ve actually been hearing more about Gen Z in media lately, almost as if the world has actually realized that we can’t have people born in the mid-’80s apart of the same generation as those born in the early 2010s.  I’m really just trying to not feel usurped by this upstart, now-trending generation. Gen Z encompasses people born from the late ‘90s to early 2010s, a generation that doesn’t remember 9/11 or a world without smartphones. Spooky, eh?

For me, what the article describes of the Millennial upbringing is accurate -- I did grow up with computers and the internet, but I didn’t have it around me at all hours. I remember in junior high, rushing out after school, to catch the earliest bus home so that I could chat on MSN with a friend living in Spain before he had to go to bed.  But that whole day at school?  Aside from class-designated computer time in a dedicated lab, which didn’t even occur daily, it was entirely offline.  We weren’t even able to bring our own laptops to school until 11th grade, and even then, most didn’t.  My first cellphones could only arduously send SMS via T9 technology, which limited its usefulness.  And accessing the internet with a circa 2002 Nokia?  What a joke!  This was an epoch before the endless onslaught of apps, a world without filters and Bitmoji.  Essentially, even though we largely got our first cell phones by 13 or 14, they were quite limited in capability.  What’s more is that they were strictly banned from usage during class time in junior and senior high, something that was lifted a few years after I graduated high school.  I realize this last bit is more geographically-dependent, as I’m sure many school boards throughout the world were more lax on cell phone usage circa 2008, and even with the outright ban, many still snuck it into class.

Furthermore, I didn’t really grow up with social media.  I know I’m a bit of an outlier for a Millennial, but I had Tumblr before I had Facebook, and the only social network I was apart of in high school was Flickr.  Still, I watched as peers, using Nexopia and Facebook, and migrating to early smartphones, fall prey to the now all-too-common side effects of social media and chatting.  Hell, I still dealt with it through MSN, Flickr, and such.  Our app-centric, mobile world is merely an outgrowth of this paradigm. 

Now, though, things are different.  I have an iPhone, I have multiple social media accounts, and use multiple chat services.  An onlooker could easily peg me as one fully in embrace of the 2017 “always on” lifestyle.  This is where the article really started to intrigue me.  A lot of what the article was describing vis-a-vis the Gen Z kids seemed applicable to this late Millennial.  Perhaps partly due to my not being that far removed from that generation’s eldest cohorts. Although I did grow up without iPhones and iPads and the ability to constantly be “on,” it’s now 2017, and that difference has eroded. I was surprised at the kinship I was feeling towards Gen Z and their woes mentioned in the article.  I may remember a time before all this stuff, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m living it now.

I recognize I spend too much time on social media, on chat apps, and to a lesser extent, my computer.  It does make me feel much lonelier than when I spend time in the physical world with friends and family, even if too much of that is exhaustive.  It does produce an environment where it’s inevitable to compare yourself to others, and resent others for how much fun they’re projecting on Instagram and Facebook, even if it’s really just a veneer.  Things like read receipts, last active information, and so forth just further aid at digging in the dagger.  It also produces an environment where you’re more likely to just stay in and send Snaps to friends than go out with them, which goes against human nature, as a social species.  It’s obviously extremely toxic and yet most can’t stop the vicious cycle. 

I’ve had my issues with Facebook in particular, and regularly contemplate deleting it, especially now that you can have a Messenger account independent of Facebook.  I’ve deactivated, I’ve deleted the app; now, I’m merely abstaining from posting to it and have moved the mobile app to a more hidden locale on my phone.  But honestly, it’s a problem I have with pretty much all social media, at least social media that is more personal.  I’m more ok with Twitter; it’s mostly just news and memes, not a detailed look into personal lives.  Tumblr is similar, due to its more anonymous nature, although when it was a more active platform, I had the same issues with it.

I recognize that I’m happier when I interact more with the physical world and I really don’t like spending so much time online.  But for me, there’s two major impediments to either significantly curtailing usage, or doing a total blackout, and I recognize it as a detriment to my health.

The first is school, which is obviously not actually related to social media, and so it isn’t an obvious reason for why I can’t stop spending time online.  But, because of how post-secondary is set up now, a lot of stuff occurs online, be it through e-mail, or eClass, where you gain access to readings and slides, not to mention being a place to take notes.  I’ve stopped typing notes, except in special cases, though I still end up using a computer to access other essential stuff for my courses.  And in doing so, it is all too tempting to look one tab over to Twitter, or see a new notification on Facebook, and then you go down that rabbit hole, and bam, you’ve lost 30 minutes of productivity.  I’m beginning to intentionally keep my laptop browser’s tabs all school related now, though I sometimes still get tempted to open new tabs, or tabs sometimes remain open from downtime.  The other, ancillary thing to being on campus is that I’m out, which means I have my phone on me, which means it’s always just there.  I may turn my phone to ‘do not disturb’, but the addictive qualities of smartphones just means I will still manually check for new notifications every now and again.  To entirely remove the distraction of my iPhone, personally, it can’t be present, which is why when I do homework at home, I make sure my phone is nowhere nearby.  Perhaps I should start leaving the phone at home.

The other impediment is more obvious to those who are aware of my background as a photographer.  Since DeviantArt and Blogger, through Flickr, Facebook, et al, and onto Instagram, social networks have been utterly vital for 21st century creatives to push their work to the wider public.  So, although it can be fun to just use social for everyday stuff, I use it as a more serious avenue, and feel it as a necessary evil nowadays.  How am I supposed to share and connect with other artists in 2017 if I do a social media blackout?  A blackout may solve the previous impediment, but not this one.  Having an Instagram is now so essential to share content as a creative.

I could do away with the smartphone, and only use social media and the internet when I’m connected to a computer proper, and essentially live a 2005 existence with the 2017 internet.  I’ve contemplated swapping the iPhone for a flip phone, and I swear it’s only partly over 2000s nostalgia.  I honestly am not hating that idea.  A problem arises from something I’ve belaboured before -- my disdain for the mobile-centric nature of social networks nowadays.    Sure, you can browse and explore Instagram from Chrome on your PC or iMac, but you can’t DM, you can’t view Stories, and most importantly, you can’t upload without tricking your browser into thinking it’s an iPad. Of all the social I use for more serious use today, Instagram is by far the most pivotal, due to its visual nature and strong engagement.  I’ve connected with a lot of amazing photographers, artists, and friends through it.  Even if mobile phones are to blame for teen suicide now being higher than teen homicide, it doesn’t change the fact that they’re at the zeitgeist for connecting in 2017, and app developers know that kids are using their phones far more than their computers and correspondingly create experiences that are mobile-centric.  It helps coding for a mobile interface is easier than a traditional desktop interface, too. 

As things continue, it seems like crucial connections will be increasingly on platforms that couldn’t give a rats ass about desktop interfaces, and so I realize a mobile device is still necessary, unfortunately.  Perhaps I could swap my iPhone for an iPod Touch, or migrate my SIM card to a “dumbphone” and keep the iPhone as a Wi-Fi only device (basically turning it into an iPod Touch).  I could also just get an iPad.  I actually sort of like that idea, but many mobile apps, like Instagram and Snapchat, don’t have a proper version for this mobile device.  I could just get an Android tablet, which doesn’t have the same differentiation that iOS has between phones and tablets, but I’ve had issues with Android, such that, at the risk of sounding like a Cupertino cliche, I’d rather have an iPad if I got a tablet.

Regardless, something needs to change. The current reality is too connected for my well-being.  My productivity is way down, too.  I’m too distracted.  What I find most ironic is that I was planning on watching The Social Network tonight, and instead, got engrossed in a random article, which inspired me to write an essay for the first time in eons with Starboy as my backdrop.  The result was still the same, however -- I again thwarted plans to further push through studies.