Do you choose your life or does your life choose you?

When I find out that something I was looking forward to has been canceled, when I've missed out on an opportunity, or I find myself letdown for one reason or another I like to comfort myself with the phrase "everything happens for a reason."

These five little words have an innocently-optimistic ring to them.

"It's okay that you missed your bus, you were meant to sit here in the rain for 20 minutes because the next bus is a magic-adventure-bus and it will take you anywhere you want to go." ... but the magic-adventure-bus never comes and I just end up being thirty minutes late for that interview, for that job that I really wanted. "But it's okay that I didn't get to that interview for that job that I really wanted because I didn't really want that job and the next job that comes along will be the magic-adventure-job of my dreams."

"Everything happens for a reason" implies that life chooses you and that you don't decide where you go with it, or what you do with it... and it's probably the best excuse, scapegoat, and biggest load of BS that I tell myself on a daily basis.

By nature, I'm the kind of girl that gets out there and grabs life by the gonads.

"If you haven't tried it, try it; if you're afraid to try it, try it anyway. If you haven't done it, do it; if you're afraid to do it, do it anyway. If you haven't seen it, go there; If you're afraid to go there, go there anyway. And, if it isn't broken, break it then fix it; if you're afraid that you won't know how to fix it, learn."

This is the philosophy that I choose to live by, not because it's right (it's not right for everyone), but because it resonates with me.

For the past few months I've spent a lot of time thinking about everything I want to try, do, see, break, fix and learn... and for the past few months I've spent too much time thinking and too little time actually trying, doing, seeing, breaking, fixing, and learning.

So this is my declaration (here for all eight of you to witness and hold me to, lucky you):

No more excuses... no more "it happened for a reason."

This statement would be nearly pointless if I didn't follow it up with a list of some sort to measure my doing/trying/seeing'ness by, so I've written out a list of 30 things to accomplish by the time that I turn thirty (a scary six years away). Let's not call this a "bucketlist" because I don't have any intention of kicking the bucket at the age of thirty *fingers crossed,* this is simply a list of things I've wanted to try or do for a while, and now I'm committing to making them happen.

(presented in no particular order):

1. go sailing
2. take a painting/drawing class
3. write a cookbook
4. become can-fit-pro certified
5. study at an ashram
6. work abroad
7. go vegan for 90 days
8. go raw for 30 days
9. take my parents somewhere nice
10. get published in a magazine
11. make my own wine
12. run a half marathon
13. hike the 65km coastal trail of Lake Superior
14. take a web development class
15. take a cooking class
16. go rock climbing
17. enter a photography competition
18. visit the provinces and territories that I haven't
19. research my family tree
20. start my own business
21. write a screenplay
22. throw a theme dinner party
23. learn to sew
24. learn to drive standard
25. create something that will last longer than I do
26. choose a faith
27. graffiti a public building
28. make a public stand for something I believe in
29. go snowboarding
30. camp in the middle of winter.

Some of these will be easier than others. Some require a large time commitment of weeks, or months, or years and others only require an evening. Some will require a lot of motivation to actually follow-up on... and fortunately I have that motivation eating breakfast with me every morning.

I was very proud of myself after completing this list... so proud in fact that I bragged about it as if I'd actually completed all of the tasks. Boastfully I read Steve the list while he ate his eggos and I ate my oatmeal... and without skipping a beat, without letting me have a moment of boastful satisfaction (!!!!) he looked me dead in the face and said "alright, which one's first?"

S'more Camping

What started with an overlooked exit off Hwy417, ended with a ruined birthday cake being cast by yours-truly (plate and all) into Mother Nature's great wonders... followed by a second ruined cake being hurled (once again, plate and all) into the bush - both plates shattering against an innocent and unassuming Spruce. Then I went and kicked the dog (calm down, I didn't kick the dog... THAT would have been overly dramatic) but I did swear at her and I'm pretty sure she went and sulked with the spruce-tree for a while while I tore Steve a new one.

Yes, every camping trip presents us with its own unique challenges be they in the form of bad weather, crap directions, malfunctioning tents, bodily injuries or, as the case may be, all of the above. Normally, overcoming theses challenges and proving yourself rougher, tougher, better prepared and more adaptable than your city-slicker friends can be part of the appeal of these weekend adventures. In reality, setting up a two-pole tent and starting a campfire with liquid "fire-starter" isn't challenging at all - engineering and invention have raped camping of all of the skill that was once required.

Still, I have a high self-opinion and a tendency to think myself rougher and tougher then I know I really am. Generally I weather the rough patches with all of the grace and poise that a young lady who has sustained herself on burnt marshmallows and not showered for three days can muster. I'll make optimistic statements like "at least it isn't snowing," "I guess we won't have to worry about forest fires!" and "it's a good thing the bear didn't get the beer" ... which probably make people want to slap me more than they actually help the situation, but they do have a way of putting things into perspective. If things ever got that bad, you know you could always just jump in the car and drive ten minutes to the nearest Motel6.

Throw spousal dispute into the mix, and you're no longer talking about a mere disagreement with your tent's fly and a Motel6 isn't going to fix the mess... what you have on your hands is full force combat against anything that looks at you the wrong way - and when that cake looked at me the wrong way I lost my cool.

As far as camp-karma goes, this has not been a good year. The season started with a bon-fire ban, bugs, and a tent circa 1811, that wasn't going up, no-way, no-how. The curse continued when I lost my keys, my air-miles card and our dog on the next trip. It then produced closed hiking trails, sun burns and hypothermic weather conditions on my Manitoban adventure. And finally on this last trip: a two hour detour, destructive dog, forgotten tent pegs, full on hissy fit, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, two broken chairs and a chipped tooth (not mine, thank-god, Steve's... but don't worry honey, it's cute).

Which makes me think that perhaps I will pack in the tent for a year and call it a season - before a tornado makes a go for our tent, or a ravenous bear invites himself to our campfire party, or I fall into the out-house, or a bag of expired hotdog buns give us all food poisoning...

“Life's a journey, not a destination”

"You listen to me! I'm getting on that plane!" My blood shot eyes narrow as I wave my boarding pass at him in a threatening manner. It's 9:30am, I haven't had my coffee yet and I'm not in the mood to play games.

"No Ma'am, you listen to me! Your bag isn't on that plane and neither are you."

My exaggerated boarding-pass wave proves to be less threatening then I had hoped and I don't get on the plane. Instead I get to loiter around Toronto International Airport for a few hours and Air Canada gets another $75 of my money... I'm sure they needed it more than I do.

Now pretend this blog post is one of those movies where the opening scene is something that happens half way through the movie and after that scene you go back in time to the actual beginning of the story ... Compronde?

5am - the alarm goes off, get up, brush teeth, get dressed, pack toothbrush, toothpaste, wake up Steve, walk the dog, still on auto pilot, drive to airport.

6am - arrive airport. Try to check in, machine won't work, swear at machine. Stand in line, line is long, note that line seems especially slow moving, dream about coffee. Wake up. Talk to clerk and try to check in "old fashioned way."

6:15am - miss plane

6:16am - wake up for real. I'm no longer dreaming about Starbucks, Tim Hortons and Second Cup. I'm wide awake and the woman in front of me is telling me that I won't make my flight and I'll have to take a later plane. shit.

7am - pay an extra $75 and successfully acquire a ticket for a flight to Toronto boarding in half an hour. Advance to security, no problems.

7:30am - board flight and wait.

8am - continue waiting.

8:30am - still waiting.

9am - wait.

9:15am - Huston we have take-off! Fly like a bat out of hell to Toronto.

9:10am - land in TO.

9:12am - RUN!

9:15am - arrive at gate *insert opening scene*

9:20am - miss second flight of the day because you can't travel without you bag and my bag was still on the other plane...

9:30am - battle it out with customer service. acquire a "stand by" seat on a flight that will get me to Winnipeg before supper time.

9:45am - buy the biggest cup of coffee in the airport. Enjoy.

10:30am - stop standing by and board the plane to Winnipeg.

TIME CHANGE

1pm - land in Winnipeg. No bag, the irony is uncanny.

3:30pm - pick up bag

5pm - leave for Falcon Lake and act like nothing happened.

Deep roots grow tall trees....

At 5'4" I'm not especially tall nor am I deeply rooted.

Perhaps it was in retaliation to my upbringing - 18 years in the same town, house and room - that launched me into my string of serial-moves. In the years that have followed my initial advance I've lost count of number of addresses, apartments and roommates that I've had. In fact, I stopped counting a few years ago when all of the aforementioned stats reached the double digits.

I am neither proud nor ashamed of this. "This" is simply a part of being Britt. I will move until I find the place that makes me want to stay. And then I will stay and be happy. Or not.

When Steven asked me to move to Ottawa I saw anther opportunity for me to potentially find that place. "Yes, of course! Ottawa! I was always meant to live in Ottawa! In Ottawa I will find what I have been looking for!"

What I hadn't anticipated (I never do) was that I wouldn't find what I was looking for there. While Ottawa itself is a great city, what with its ability to weather recessions well and all that, it's a great city away from the friends, family and the other people that I know and love. And so now I second guess brushing off the possibility of living happily in Manitoba, for life in it's Easterly neighbor.

So here I am with one foot planted in Manitoba and one foot planted in Ottawa, and two arms reaching out and frantically grabbing for South America, India, Russia... or anywhere else that might have what I'm looking for. Or, it might not.

Tomorrow I fly back to Manitoba for an annual camping trip with friends. I will be gone only a few days and I will remember why I want to live there, and I will also be reminded of why I don't. And then the two ideologies will fight internally within me second guessing one another until they're both blue in the face and so exhausted that they will just agree to disagree and I'll move to Alaska to see if what I want is there.

What do I want? Like everyone, I want what I don't have. As the case may be, I want roots. I want roots that run so deep they wrap around rocks, houses, water pipes and other trees. Roots that declare themselves, and the entire tree, happy to be "HERE" forever. But, I don't have roots. I have branches and, for now those aren't so bad.

If you wait to do everything until you're sure it's right, you'll probably never do much of anything.

It seems there are blogs about everything these days. Blogs about cooking, cleaning, dogs, cats, babies, weddings, flowers, frogs, traveling, being "green"... cooking clean, cooking while you clean, cleaning your cat, cooking for your dog, cooking your dog, cats and dogs, babies and cats, babies dogs and cats, weddings for your dog/cat/baby, wedding flowers, cooking for weddings, destination weddings, green weddings, traveling green, green babies, green frogs, cooking green, blogging green....

you get the idea.

For a long, long time now I've been waiting for the right reason to start blogging again and several opportunities presented themselves over the past few months.

1. I got engaged! I could jump on board the bridezilla blogging bus and tell the world about what sort of place settings we've registered for, or that we were soliciting proposals from local banks to conduct a financial assessment of our friends, family and coworkers to determine who would provide a better ROI (return on invitation).

2. I moved. I move a lot actually. I could blog about moving, packing and the best way to trick your friends into helping you -- FYI, it's inviting them over for pizza and neglecting to mention that you won't be ordering that pizza until they've carried your couch five blocks down the street and up three flights of stairs.

3. I like cooking so I could become the five-billionth blog about that.

4. I adopted the worlds happiest basset hound and I'm sure you would all love regular detailed posts about Sally's eating, pooping and sleeping schedule.

5. I'm unemployed... or as I prefer "transitioning." You could hear all about my search for the perfect job. My tenth, eleventh, and twenty-third interviews, how I rambled, talked excessively with my hands and about the time I stole the interviewers cellphone.

I know these topics would all make for interesting blogs, but none of them have come to fruition. I'm not a bridezilla, I hate moving, half of the things that I cook I end up burning, blogging about my dog seems a little desperate and blogging about unemployment IS desperate. So I've decided to stop waiting for the right thing to write about and to just blog about all of it. All of these crazy little things that make my crazy little life, what it crazy little is.

Oh I can hear the critics now "oh no! Not another life blog... that's sooooo done. I hope she doesn't tweet about it."

Well you critics can go hate on some other blog, we don't need none of that round here!

(Okay so I made the thing about critics up just so that I could use the phrases "hate on" and "round here." And incase you were wondering, the answer is no, I won't be tweeting about it... that's sooooo done.)