Unwanted Guest

Sunlight casting shadows on barren trails is an unusual sight to see in winter here on the West Coast, and today I was fortunate enough to capture it. Most days, rain sodden grass and a veil of water is what we Vancouverites are used to experiencing; it's how we live in the winter.  As a result, for people in places where sunlight is at a premium in winter months, many experience SAD (seasonal affective disorder), or more commonly known as the "winter blues".  This type of depression looms from November to April, which makes these months miserable.  The lack of sun pushes circadian rhythms out of whack, which causes problems for serotonin levels, leaving you feeling exhausted, depressed, and sometimes a bit anti-social.  For mild sufferers dealing with the host of symptoms, a few more hours outside, or a trip to a sunny destination can help. Other more serious cases may need to seek medical attention.  I classify myself closer to the milder end of the spectrum.  I may not need medication, but I do need to be mindful of my moods and really push myself out of lower ones.

The first few weeks of November are the toughest as I never really see it coming.  It's like how we never notice when it starts to get dark at 4:30 pm; it just does one day.  I like to think that maybe one year it won't show up, so I don't wait around for it.  This year has been really tough so far, and I'm not sure why.  It could be the extra stress at work, or the fact I miss my sister and her family, or my body chemistry could be changing, as well.  The biggest difference has been the crazy two week bout with insomnia that literally drove me insane.  This is certainly not a common symptom, but lack of sleep certainly doesn't help the other ones.  If you noticed something was a bit off about me in the last month well SAD was to blame.  I've noticed I am tenser, touchier and so very tired; not exactly friendly qualities.  Last Thursday it all hit like a wave.  I found myself still awake at 4:30 a.m. in tears, sitting on the couch with my faithful companion Triggs, as all I wanted to do was sleep.  After two weeks of this I knew I had to do something.  I went to the doctor and we figured out that 'the winter blues" had come for a visit and brought his bag of symptoms to share.  "Of course", I almost shouted, "SAD".  This happens every year.  He suggested a low dose of melatonin to help make me catch a few winks for this week and regular exercise to help release the 'feel good' hormones.  And I prescribed myself time under my sunlamp and to get outside when it is glorious out, like today.  Knowing what to expect makes my winter blues easier to manage.  When I feel anti-social, which is the biggest symptom of mine, I force myself to visit "comforting" friends.  Those people who really accept you.  The type of people you can sit in a room with and not feel pressure to fill the air constantly with chatter, but can appreciate a moment of silence without it being awkward.

It's in these times I am reminded of a painting entitled "Abbey In An Oak Forest" by Casper David Friedrich.    Most people perceive it as a depressing piece, but there is something in the faint light, through the broken Abbey window that sets a sense of peace inside of me. I have always loved this haunting picture as to me it's sad and lovely at the same time.  Long ago, in  my collage days, I wrote a short story about this painting for my Art History class called "Where Are My Monks?".  I've always thought the grave stones in the forefront were tiny monks coming to visit the abandoned Abbey.  I still see it that way.  To me, I'm the Abbey and my friends and family are my monks.  That's how I get through the winter blues, trying to surround myself with people I love.  When I retire, I plan to live somewhere warn and sunny, so the blues can't visit, but my monks can always come by and stay for awhile.

Last Women Standing

Friends come in all forms.  I have acquaintance friends, some really close friends, and life long friends; all of which either have children or really want them.  But I have come to the realization that with the exception of one friend in Calgary, I do not have a single friend who feels the same way about not having children.  This came to me the other day when I opened an email from a dear friend of mine who recently had a baby.  It was an invite to a "Welcome to the World" party to meet the new love of her life, her daughter. Of course I am happy for her, as any friend would be but it is a bittersweet situation for me, as I am losing another friend to motherhood.  It sounds dramatic, like she broke up with me, but it is true.  Especially with this particular friend, as she was my only "child- free Allie" for so long.  It was only up until last year that she taped into her true desire to be a mother; before then she had the same mind set as I do- no kids.  And together over the years, we watched as all of our other girlfriends have children.  Together attending "ladies- nights", her and I would drink our wine and nod along with the labour stories and breastfeeding anecdotes, our other friends told.

Now out of my close circle of five, I am the last woman standing.  It was only five years ago that all six of us were with Martini glasses in hand regaling over the men in our lives and the goals for our careers.  Then one by one, they all started having babies, as majority of women do in their thirties, except for J and myself.  We embraced this situation by having dinner parties with just us four: J and T, Scott and I, every month.  It was lovely.  When we did have an odd "ladies-night" we stuck together during the "baby talk", and I never noticed that we were the odd ones out.

This past August, the last time we were all together, with a very pregnant J, I became aware that I was not just the minority in the group, but the only one who didn't have children.  Sure enough, once you get a room full of people who have a major interest or lifestyle in common the whole conversation gets pulled in that direction.  It happens with everyone, not just mothers-people who have dogs; people who are in the same profession; or love the same sports team, are all guilty of it.  So instead of drinking wine and talking about travel or men, they were sipping sparkling water and debating the latest parenting theory: Attachment Parenting.  And there I was sitting on the edge of the couch, literally looking in, like a bystander, trying to keep up.  I knew then that what we all had five years ago was gone.  And I miss those times.

 It doesn't mean I still don't love them or that we aren't friends, it just means our friendships have shifted so drastically that it is hard to recognize them.  Maybe one day things will return to some normalcy, but until then I'm trying to meet some new people to hang with, but finding a child-free woman by choice, in her mid-thirties is nearly impossible to find.  It sure would be nice to have at least one Allie with me, because "one is the loneliest number".