Things have changed.

I don’t write the same anymore, or about the same things. I’ve lost my fervent verbosity. Every time I sit at my computer, my mind blanks. Writing has become a chore. Even this entry has taken me days to think through. I find myself writing and rewriting every point, every paragraph.

In the beginning, blogging was a form of catharsis. Developing cognitively beyond my adolescence was an emotional period, filled with confusion and growing pains. The only way I could make sense of it all was to write out my thoughts, forcing myself to reflect and learn from every challenge.

It was also a useful tool in figuring myself out, as a part of my life where I could approach things with the conviction that I lacked in the rest of my life. Now that I’ve gained enough confidence, it doesn’t seem so necessary to prove myself with words anymore. It would seem that I’ve become a victim of my own self-assuredness.

I could fill this blog with entries, finding solace in the written word, when I was going through something as simple as a bad day. As time has passed, I’ve eliminated most of the things that bother me enough to turn to this medium. It was a slow and systematic process, both internal and external. My new-found serenity has left me with little rage. I’m happier now, and happiness is too hard to write.

There have been few epiphanies, and even less inspiration, in the last while. Maybe it’s because I’m in the middle of a transition. It takes a foundation of stability, something I haven’t had in months, to grow. My life hasn’t quite settled yet.

Writer’s block is a sign that I’ve stopped growing, a testament to what and how much I’ve been through.

But more importantly, it’s a sign that I’m approaching where I want to go in my life.

On days like this, it’s better to wear light clothing, and throw on a hooded windbreaker. The rain outside is just a drizzle, so it’s comfortably cool. Pay no attention to the hydraulic hiss of the windshield wipers, or you won’t be able to help hearing them through the quiet parts of every song. Window seats are prime. There are fewer distractions from people walking down the aisle.

The 95 goes from one end of the city to the other, straight through the heart of Ottawa. Every stop is a memory. Old haunts. Past lives.

Here was your first apartment. Sometimes you’d find Christie waiting for you here on the benches between classes. How long ago those days seem, how immature and relatively innocent. The next two stops are on the edge of the university campus, four years of scattered truancy. Two stops later is where you use to buy a medium caramel corretto every morning after an exhausting night with Louise. Your old government office is another two on. The concrete building looks so foreign now, and you wonder if the same people are still inside. Another few stops is your last apartment, before buying the house, the end of bus rides home every day.

Music never meant so much.

You pass by construction sites, finished buildings, see the evolution of the city.

Six years of experience, six years of shifting, ever-changing anima.

Six years passed.

Six years lived.

Six years grown.

I wasn’t planning on writing another part of this series until I asked John for his opinion. He was extremely hesitant to commit but eventually opined, with earnest consideration of his words.

His most significant insight was that I may be hastily passing judgment on something that I’ve only begun to experience. “It’s time, not the awareness of our accomplishments, that teaches us what’s seminal”, he put it. I find it difficult to disagree. After all, I have no idea how important the last year will be. All I know is that it’s been important up until now.

I always trust what John says. Like a preacher, he speaks the truth. It’s good to have a friend who can keep me in check, who can give me some perspective. Perhaps I’ve been looking a little too hard for meaning. I want to believe that these things have changed me, made me a better person.

But only time will tell me for sure.

The Trinary Maturity Series

1. Introduction
2. The Job
3. The Girlfriend
4. The House
5. (In)Conclusion

In the last year of high school, I was called into the guidance office for some direction in choosing a post-secondary institution. The councilor, a very, very Caucasian man, went through the features of each university, noting especially the ones with nice campuses. In an effort to save his time, I explained that the esthetics of a university were of no consequence to me, because they wouldn’t affect my life. Apparently this was a different approach from other students, whom he believed decided on the direction of their education through a desire for lush lawns and big dorm rooms.

I’d always believed that I’d feel the same way about a house as a campus. Give me enough room for my computer with walls thick enough to crank my music and I’ll be happy, I used to say. While this may still hold true, I’ve discovered that I’m even happier with a nice place. I finally understood that councilor, four years later, after changing universities for a brief post-graduate stint. The new campus was big, modern, and inspiring; quite a difference from my previous university with its brown buildings and constant construction.

It’s the same when comparing a rented place of residence and an actual house. A house begets security, and in turn, a sense of confidence. There’s a distinct feeling, every day, waking up in one’s own home. Knowing that every paycheque is going towards some equity, a little piece of property I call my own. Having a comfort zone, a place that I don’t have to deal with anyone I don’t want to. A place where I make the rules, not having to answer to landlords or security.

It was the process too, that helped me grow. Aside from the common sense of owning a house as a long-term investment, I was inspired (or should I say “driven”) to move because of a roommate. After one particularly childish conflict, I decided more than four months before I actually had time to look, to buy a house and take Trolley with me. We moved in before the lease was up on the apartment.

I went through the entire process myself, knowing nothing at the start. I had never done anything on this scale before, and while it may seem trivial to those who have been initiators their entire lives, this was a big step for me. It let me know that I could actually accomplish the things I want.

And that cast aside all the doubt that was holding me back.

The Trinary Maturity Series

1. Introduction
2. The Job
3. The Girlfriend
4. The House
5. (In)Conclusion

The first catalyst involved in my “transformation” was my job. It could be said that the only reason this job was so significant is because I had never had such a job before. Perhaps things would be different if I started my current career at a different time, although the same could be said about the other two factors.

I was hired to work closely with one of two owners, a man with the drive, mind, wit, and personality to run one of the top companies in the industry. I see myself as a tool, an extension of his person, responsible for things that he doesn’t have time to do. By freeing his time, the company is able to grow faster, because his resources can then be put to better use.

My role is as a sort of submissive. This works out well, because in (most of) the rest of my life I’m dominant. Like me, many submissives at work are also dominants at home, and vice-versa. People want change from the everyday life of their career, and in fact, my submission in this role is what makes me a better dominant in others (more on this extremely significant point in the forthcoming part of this series).

I don’t have the personality to run a business, the way my boss doesn’t have the personality to work for someone else. Our roles are clearly defined, and I’m much more productive as a submissive in this situation. It’s this productiveness that has given me so much confidence. I know how good a worker I am, how integral my role is in the company, and how difficult I would be to replace.

Relational roles aside, however, there are several other factors of my job that contributed to what I consider explosive growth. The responsibility I have was a big thing. As the only IT person there, I have to make sure that all our hardware and software is sufficient for what we’re doing. When the nature of the business changes, the upper echelon comes to me for a solution, whether it’s upcoming VOIP implementation to save on long distance, wireless tracking of our pick-ups and deliveries, or something as simple as a server upgrade to handle the market growth.

Even things like making phone calls have changed me. I was never comfortable on the phone. Only a year ago, ordering pizza was a difficult thing to do, and Trolley can attest to this after getting him to call for me several times. The only explanation I could come up with for this behaviour is that there are people on the other end, but I still can’t really make sense of this aside from poor self-confidence. All I knew was that my telephone shyness was a problem. I got over it by forcing myself to make phone calls at work. After all, one does not stop a project at a telephone conversation when one’s boss wants something done. I still have my off-days, of course, when I avoid making calls altogether, but those are few and far between.

Not only has my job sparked a change in me, it’s paved a way for other growth as well. Even financially speaking, I now have the freedom to pursue my other goals and hobbies.

Every day I work, I’m thankful.

The Trinary Maturity Series

1. Introduction
2. The Job
3. The Girlfriend
4. The House
5. (In)Conclusion