Are the dog days really over?

The term “dog days” brings to mind a sentimental scene, ripe with nostalgia. I see a rickety set of stairs coming off the back door of an old house. A field rolls past the horizon, down to a stand of aspen running along a creek (read: crick). Pants are trousers, frayed at the cuff and held up by a set of stained suspenders. A dog would help the scene, lazing about under the stairs hiding from the heat that bares its name.

This summer has so far been a warm one, to say the least. Yet here in Victoria, we haven’t had it so bad. It hasn’t been anywhere near as bad as the sweltering heat of the eastern seaboard, Europe or the southern west coast and the High Sierras’. Despite the heat I have been adorned in denim riding my motorbike all over the place, I’ve had a couple of trips to various parts of the Island and one long one through the Kootenays coming up in August. With all the riding comes many hours of riding solo on the bike, a great place for thought and reflection.

I feel as though the topic of reinvention and self-discovery comes up often on this blog. I am forever analyzing myself and my actions, for the most part in a positive way. I try not to let the intrusive thoughts win. They may win a battle here and there but they sure as hell won’t win the war. Like everyone else, I’m bound to succumb to bouts of depression, anxiety, self-loathing or self-pity. I find the intrusive thoughts are at their worst when I feel as though I’m letting myself down, when I’m not taking advantage of this second chance on life I’ve been granted through recovery. When my production, whatever that is, isn’t meeting my demands.

I feel the most me while I’m creating something. Be it writing, this blog or short stories, walking around a city for hours shooting photos or puttering away in my workshop on a variety of projects.

As I mentioned in my last post, I’m much better as a human doing as opposed to a human being. Checklists, tasks to accomplish, and destinies getting manifested (*windchimes) are my barometer for how engaged I am in life. If I’ve got a list of things I can not get finished in a day I can generally sleep pretty well. I had a deep conversation with my girlfriend about this, as we’re apt to do, and I found it to be very revealing.

I feel as though I’ve missed out on so much of life as I was too busy living. Travelling, skateboarding and partying were great while they were happening, however, I never managed to get to know myself. I was far too busy, caught up in the rush, and I feel now as though I don’t have a second to waste as my development and understanding of myself and the people around me was hindered by drugs, alcohol and an untameable ego. The frivolities of youth *sigh.

This drive for growth, of course, is also somewhat driven by ego. My desire to change my narrative and become the best version of me is equally relentless as past, more destructive desires. And when I am not fulfilling what I see as my potential I digress into a state of unsureness. Call the caterer because we’re having a pity party y’all! And we’re serving up marshmallows straight out of the bag and more Instagram than anyone can handle.

I counteract the “sads” by waking up the next day, going to the gym, journaling, meditating, having meaningful conversations with those that are dear to me, whatever and generally getting on with it. Oh, and making sure I take my medication (read: crazy pills) every day.

Without relying too heavily on clichés, life is beautiful and is what we make it. I refuse to waste the second half of mine.