Hello Friday!

Another week has slipped by, and honestly, I’m still wondering where March went. Time moves differently now that I’m retired. It’s almost funny – I thought slowing down would make the days feel longer, but instead they seem to disappear while I’m busy learning, reading, writing, watching videos, or heading out for a walk or to do a few errands. Even the simple daily housekeeping routines seem to make the hours melt away.

Before I know it, hubby is walking through the door, and the day is already half gone. He’s always home by 3:30 pm because he starts so early, which means those 5 am mornings come with a price – early nights. It’s a rhythm we’ve settled into, though, and it works for us.

And speaking of things to look forward to, a week from today – Friday, April 3rd, Good Friday – we’re heading to the Jag Soundhouse to see Chris De Burgh! I’m already buzzing with excitement. I love concerts! There’s nothing quite like live music filling a room and settling right into your chest. It’ll be our first time at that venue, too, so that adds a little extra spark. Date Night!!

Sister Chats

I had a long chat with one of my sisters yesterday (we talk almost every day), and the topic of cynicism came up. I told her something I’ve come to accept: after everything I went through in that workplace in Ontario, I don’t think I’ll ever fully trust another person the way I once did, not even my family. She said it was sad – and she’s right – but it’s also my truth, and I’ve made peace with it.

My social circle has grown smaller over the years because of that experience, but the surprising part is that I don’t mind. I’ve grown to love the quiet life I have now. I choose who I let close, and it’s a very small, very intentional group. There’s comfort in that. There’s safety in that. And there’s a kind of freedom in finally admitting what you need and honouring it.

I think I caught my sister off guard yesterday with how honest I was. She knows pieces of what I went through – she lived in the same building, heard the same rumours, and watched the fallout there during those early years. She saw how some of our family turned on me, as if I had somehow invited the behaviour of those tenants or caused the online attacks. And she knows that most of our family doesn’t support my website. They don’t read it. They don’t ask about it. Not even her, even though it will be 5 years old next month.

So I asked her, plainly, how I’m supposed to trust people to support me when they’ve already shown me they won’t. She didn’t have an answer. There really isn’t one.

Reflections

Over the past few years, I’ve spent a lot of time becoming more aware of myself – how I feel, what I need, what I can no longer pretend away. I’ve learned to honour those feelings instead of pushing them aside to make others comfortable. That kind of honesty with yourself isn’t easy. It requires sitting with the discomfort, the grief, the anger, and the truth of what happened.

In all honesty, those were rough years, and I share some of it here because it’s part of my truth. I don’t lay everything out – some pieces are still too heavy – but I share enough to show what those years were really like and how deeply they shaped me.

But the end result – the acceptance, the steadiness, the peace I feel now – has been worth every moment of that work. I’m not the same person I was before Ontario, and I don’t expect myself to be. I have changed quite a bit, but of course, most don’t notice; they see what they want to see.

My hubby sees me, though, and he’s stayed by my side even when he didn’t fully understand what I was going through. We get to celebrate 30 years together this August! He may not read every post I write, but he pops in from time to time, and he understands more than anyone what those years did to me. He lived through the aftermath with me, day in and day out, and he’s watched me rebuild myself piece by piece. Even when he isn’t reading every word, he still knows the heart behind what I share.

His patience while I build my own resilience is something I deeply appreciate. He’s given me the space to grow at my own pace, without pushing, without questioning, just quietly standing beside me. That kind of steady support is rare, and I don’t take it for granted. I know how lucky I am.

As I mentioned in this post,  Poster: Insights on Life After Living More Years Than Remaining, I have fewer years ahead of me than there are behind, and that reality has settled into me in a way that feels grounding rather than frightening. It’s a reminder that the time I have left is precious, and I want to spend it in ways that feel meaningful – not chasing approval, not trying to convince people to stand beside me, and certainly not shrinking myself to make others more comfortable. I’ve done enough of that.

I’ve lived enough life to know what drains me and what nourishes me. After everything I’ve worked through, I’m choosing the things that bring peace, joy, and honesty into my days. That’s the gift of getting older: you finally stop apologizing for wanting a life that feels good to live.

The Weekend

I’m really looking forward to the weekend. Hubby and I have some grocery shopping to do, and these days I don’t go alone anymore. I struggle too much getting everything home by myself, so we make it a little outing together. It’s one of those small routines that has become part of our weekend rhythm.

We’re also hoping the weather cooperates so we can get out for a walk somewhere – maybe find a trail that isn’t too messy. I’m craving some fresh air and a quiet moment sitting in Nature. It’s been a harsh winter here, and I’ve had to stay home more than I’d like. I’m ready to feel the world outside my door again.

Conclusion

I’m heading out today, even though it’s nothing but high wind and rain from morning to night. It’s the 8 degrees Celsius I want to feel. After months of cold, that little hint of warmth feels like a gift. I’ve got a few errands to run, and I might even treat myself to a haircut while I’m out.

At some point, I plan on stopping for a moment, lifting my face to the sky, and breathing in the moist, salty air. There’s something healing about letting the weather wash over you – even the wild, messy kind. It reminds me I’m still here, still moving forward, still connected to this place I call home.

Till I return, I hope you all have a fantastic weekend and that you find a little fun tucked into your days. Whether it’s something big or something small, I hope you get a moment that makes you smile.