toronto

An Adventure in Mastering Yourself:The Subtle Difference Between Hope and Expectation

It’s my ten month anniversary of living in Toronto on July 1st and I’m celebrating with a visit to Ottawa, a city I last visited ten years ago. And as part of my celebration, I want to reflect on some of the lessons and learning of this year to help create a second year that is even richer and more meaningful than the first. (Deo volente, I’ll be sharing some of these lessons in entries to come, so stay tuned).

First and foremost, I’ve realised this year that instead of expecting perfection, one must simply hope for beneficial experiences and positive people because challenges are inevitable and real life is always different to what we imagine. (And as a side note what is best may not be something that you thought about previously). Being steadfastly hopeful and fiercely optimistic without specific expectations towards present people/places/experiences or without imagining how future events will unfold prevents you from feeling disappointed, because hope is an understanding that there is no guaranteed outcomes. The hope that things will go well (and an understanding that there will likely be tough bits that will require new ways of thinking and being to get through) also means that you’re less likely to be frustrated while you adjust to new situations and your mental muscles tear and become stronger. In general, the more specific and greater your expectations are, the harder it is to recognise the beauty of what you actually experience.

I discovered this lesson the hard way, because although my graduate experience and time in Toronto has been full of new people, self-discovery, happiness, and moments of standing very far outside my comfort zone, instead of taking each day as it came and being gentle with myself through the adjustment process, my first few months I analysed my experience a lot, because I had expected that there would be no dull classes, no readings I didn’t find fascinating, no moments of indecision, no instance when my enthusiasm would flag, no days where I would feel homesick, and really, no moments where I didn’t enjoy the struggle and the strife. I expected each paper to be a learning adventure because graduate school is a very deliberate choice, and anything other than bliss felt like cause for concern.

Eventually, I realised I was experiencing what Alain de Botton describes in  “The Art of Travel” when he speaks about why travel frequently turns out differently than what we imagine. He reflects on the  sentence “they journeyed through the afternoon” and notes that such a short sentence does not encapsulate everything involved in that trip: the waiting in the train, the boredom, the heat, the delays, the hunger when food is not available and so forth.We simply look at pretty brochures, and we forget the periods that aren’t photographed. And yet life is the photographed and the non photographed moments, it is the destinations we know we want to visit, and it is the unexpected neighbourhood cafes we stumble upon on the walk home. It is sunshine and rain. Sticking to precise routes and expecting endless joy is unreasonable, but with an open perspective personal growth and self mastery are hopes with the potential to be realised.

No Matter What the Weather Is, It’ll Always Change

I haven’t been well for the past few weeks, and instead of being a focused paper-writing machine, I’ve barely been able to stay awake. The few hours each day I haven’t been asleep have been filled with sneezing and coughing and trying to keep my fever down. It’s been awful to have such little control over my consciousness and health, and instead of bright eyes and a smile, to see a pale, exhausted person whenever I catch sight of my reflection.

The result has been much resolution- making to be a kinder, gentler and more grateful person. It’s been a negotiation of sorts. If I can only stay awake I say in my waking moments, I will refrain from complaining, I will be less impatient, I will cherish small moments, and I will focus on growing and learning as much as I can.

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I’m Posting Every Day In 2011!

I was looking through an old daytimer today searching for something, and seeing the different entries from my time in Toronto thus far led to an epiphany. (yay!) I realised that part of the reason I’ve found it tough to blog regularly is that a day in Toronto might include anything from interesting discussions about social finance, to learning about the Chichewa word kumvana at the Engineers Without Borders National Conference, to feeling homesick and missing mountains to everything in between, and speaking about all that becomes a bit overwhelming unless I make space to share on a regular basis. So I talk a lot about what is going on during teatime at home (morning and night!) but because tea drinking happens all the time sharing isn’t a monumental task, and both small and big moments make it to those daily sessions.

So friends, I’ve decided I want to blog more. WordPress has a challenge to blog once a day during 2011, and I think that’s the motivation I need to be more regular, and share this crazy wonderful adventure I’m on called grad school and Toronto, and what it is I want to be and who I want to become.

If you already read my blog, I hope you’ll comment and share. And if you’re new to the space, welcome! I’m looking forward to the challenge.

Expanding the Boundaries of My Heart (Reflections From Seven Weeks In)

Every day, my love for this city deepens.  I always thought the boundaries of my heart started and ended in Vancouver, but the past seven weeks have taught me that this is not the case. It is possible to hold multiple loves within you, and this openness to new and different things enriches your life and strengthens your love of each individual thing as a result. It’s been an astonishing, life changing revelation. I feel like I could live anywhere now, (or at the very least, can imagine myself in more than the west coast in the future) and am not as hesitant to try new things.

And now that I’m feeling more settled, I feel like I have so much to share about my adventures thus far!  A complete summary is impossible, but it’s been a rich and learning filled few weeks. I’ve fasted the last few days of Ramadhan on my own, celebrated my birthday away from family for the first time, set up my new room (yay IKEA!), met lots of interesting people (and possibly a few kindred spirits), missed my brother’s birthday, befriended the TTC and the GO train, went to the U of T’s Graduate Student Orientation, celebrated my first solo Eid  (and went to Eid prayer for the first time), explored campus, caught a cold, went to a Shakespeare play, went to Nuit Talks, attended an incredible dialogue session with the Governor General, attended the ballet, participated in Word on the Street, went to Friday prayer for the first time (minus conferences), visited Montreal, attended many campus lectures, consumed heaps of tea, wandered a great deal, and in sum, while doing the million and one things involved in settling and becoming used to a new place, have been learning new things and confirming old things about myself every day.

It’s been a challenging, fascinating, frustrating, and beautiful experience, and since it  was my seven week annniversary in the city a few days ago, in no particular order, here is a bit of what I’ve been thinking about since I’ve arrived.  (Amazing how time goes so quickly).

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A Life Well Lived

I went to the ballet today. At the time it felt crazy to go in the middle of papers, assignments and presentations, but I turned the computer off anyway and headed to the Betty Oliphant Theatre to watch Ballet Jorgen Canada’s beautiful adaptation of Cinderella. And despite a few hiccups getting there, once I arrived I was delighted to discover I had the perfect seat: right in the middle of the front row. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to soak up each expression, the details of the costumes and the perfection of each movement.

And as I watched the acts unfold, I couldn’t help thinking that the production was an incredible example of dedication made visible. It was a reminder that excellence cannot be created instantly; it is not a product of procrastination and shortcuts. It’s only through hours and hours of daily practice and emotional, physical and mental commitment to a craft that such performances, such beauty is possible.

Aside from the beauty of the performance though, it was a special afternoon because it was a celebration of Clea Iveson, who after 19 years and 2,000 performance is retiring from active dancing with Ballet Jorgen Canada. (Which is a shame. Even for a infrequent ballet attendee like myself, her performance was powerful and hilarious and hard to ignore.) And when the dancers came out on stage after the show, bouquets of flowers appeared from the audience, little girls slipped handwritten cards on stage, everyone was on their feet and you could feel the emotion of everyone in the room: from audience members, to the dancers, to the Artistic Director to Clea (first names sound so very informal!) herself. Even the people beside me were crying. What I found most moving though, was that when the audience finally quietened, the Artistic Director shared some beautiful words about her strength, her intelligence, her commitment and dedication and her contributions that have made the company what it is today.

And hearing those words and witnessing the emotion of everyone in the room made me think about work and what it means to have a calling. Deep contributions are possible not by flitting from one activity to another, or giving up quickly, but only when you pour all of yourself in a particular sphere of activity and continually strive to refine your abilities and expertise.

The same lesson came to mind when I was returning to Vancouver from London a few months ago and the pilot announced about half an hour before landing that after forty years of service that flight was his last journey in the cockpit. He thanked his wife who was onboard for her constant support, told us that flying was a challenging life path, and shared moments with us that he’ll always cherish: from seeing the sunrise in the cockpit when many of the passengers were asleep, to hearing the quietness of the world, to seeing how different people live across the world. There were many moments, and he was glad for the journey he had taken through life.

By the end of it, I had a lump in my throat from the gifts of his reflections, and the whole plane applauded when he landed the plane smoothly in the Vancouver International Airport.

And so whether I think of the ballet today, or that pilot earlier this summer, or any other remarkable example, the reflection is the same: it is extraordinary and beautiful to see your work as a calling and as a source of wonder and passion. And yet how challenging a thing to keep yourself steadfast to your chosen path as you develop!  (But necessary, if deep meaningful contribution to the world is the aim.) All things to tuck away as I return back to paper writing, and try to put into perspective some of the more stress inducing parts of studying and doing the masters. It’s just meant to be one step of a much larger journey.

I Have a Feeling I Won’t Be Invited Up This Time Around

Yesterday I found the loveliest gem in the inbox of my old email account: a description of my very first trip to Toronto nine years ago. I’ve pretty much recycled all my papers from high school so finding it was a rare treat, and aside from reminding me of my love of random capitalisation, awkward semicolons, big words and exclamation marks, it was a great reminder that I’ve thankfully grown heaps since then, and though I have butterflies in my stomach about leaving in a few (!) days, it is only by undergoing new experiences that we increase our capacity to act and do more.  (Clearly I haven’t gotten rid of my love of run on sentences quite yet though). Enjoy this window into August 4th 2001, it definitely gave me a much needed laugh. =)

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Goodness. I Had No Idea Bookshelf Goodbyes Would Be So Darn Difficult.

From debating whether to go at all, there are now nine days remaining till I leave my beloved Vancouver and move to Toronto. And friends, the move is making my heart hurt.

Not because  leaving places and people I love dearly will be hard (that’s true but I’ve accepted it finally) but because I’m puzzled by how one decides what to take and what to leave behind.  During a trip to London in May 2010 Antoine Saint Exupery’s words “he who would travel happily must travel light” came to mind when I arrived and realised that tube stations don’t have lifts, and struggled waited for wonderful strangers to help me with my suitcase every time I took a train to a different part of the country, or transferred hotels within London itself. In those moments, I would look at other passengers with tiny bags going for weekend trips and admire how their luggage didn’t hinder their movement at all.  So it’s a sensible principle: journeying forward with relatively little physical (and mental I suppose) baggage just makes for happier, easier times.

Intellectually I get this. But my courage fails me with the thought of implementing it when relocating someplace new.  The logic still makes sense: if you pack lightly future moves are easier to do, storing things in a tiny apartment is less complicated and you save on the cost of shipping whatever doesn’t fit in your two suitcase allowance. But when your return date is uncertain, oh it becomes ever so much harder to do!

And I’m surprised by just how hard it’s been.  After all, I’ve never been fond of malls, I have such tiny feet it’s a pain to go shoe shopping,  and trying on clothes with a hijab can be quite an elaborate affair, so I’ve always thought I was the kind of person who had limited belongings. I was wrong, and as I examine the contents of my room, I’m amazed by the sheer number of things I possess. Books. Letter paper.  Moleskines filled with late night reflections, emphatic underlining and a complete disregard for paragraphs. Swimming gear.  Bundt pans.  Prayer rugs. Binders filled with extracurricular classes and beautiful essays (not my own) that I’ve saved over the years. I’m astonished to discover it all.

It is the books that seem the hardest to leave. Packing this afternoon, I looked at my well worn copy of Walden, my Urdu books and my copy of Anne’s first set of adventures (among many many others) and leaving them felt like leaving good, kind friends and teachers behind. Yet opening a box and collecting a mass of  ‘necessary’ titles wasn’t a great solution either; I realised that even leaving a full bookshelf behind, to take my required books means shipping a couple of boxes worth, and it felt troubling to be so attached to material things. In Pakistan people’s lives have been turned upside down by floods of the past few weeks, in other parts of the world people leave their homes at a moment’s notice, and the cost of postage could be better used to help people in genuine need. (and so for the first time, I’m questioning the act of buying books in the first place; they are heavy and hard to move around!) On the other hand, being on my own and not being able to decipher a bit of Tariq Ramadan’s words before bed might make it that much harder to adjust and create a sense of home. On the other hand (I’m an octopus apparently), how much time do grad students have to read anyway?

And so I return to my dilemma. Dear friends, what do you take when you move? Are you a proponent of the packing light approach or do you take everything you love when you go? Advice most appreciated.