Early in April, I had my first class in a ten week pottery course, the first fine arts class I’ve taken since grade 8. That same week, I participated in the first of five sessions as part of a train-the-trainer workshop for Thrive RU, essentially my first foray into group therapy. Each Tuesday in April, I rolled out of bed, biked down to campus, and began my morning in a session with a collection of other folks across RyersonSA, and we worked through the five-factor model of resilience, guided by Dr. Diana Brecher. Later, I rode up to Clay Design to learn how to wedge, center, throw, tool, and glaze to make creations all of my own.
There are days when I wake and I know, nearly upon opening my eyes or sometimes as I brush the last remains of dreams from my consciousness, that “Today will be a lonely one.” Not in the sense of being alone, it is rare in Toronto to find myself at any point actually “alone”, but in the sense that there are days, rare enough that I can’t call it chronic but often enough that I recognize the signs, when I have no desire nor willingness to engage with any other persons. On these days, I prefer, in fact I may describe it more as a “need,” to be and to feel lonely. Sometimes it is in the sad way that loneliness is most readily interpreted, but other times it is simply just the feeling of being alone.
Some days, as I walk through the city on my daily pedestrian commute, I have to remind myself to look ahead of me instead of down at my feet. But this summer I also took the time to lay down and look up. Looking up is more than just for stargazing.
Rolling green hills framing the skyline, winding roads just tight enough to squeeze past oncoming cars, and tall grasses enclose the beach overlooking a sea stretching out into nowhere. Oh, and don’t forget the sheep – everywhere, sheep.