Author: michleeann

A lover of all things Karl Lagerfeld, Golden Girls enthusiast, and loves books from Hemingway to Harlequin.

Categories
Life

I’m Falling in Love with Libraries, Again

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When I was younger, I used to frequent the local library. My mom, our neighbour, and her two kids would walk from our house to the library (back when people didn’t automatically own two cars), pick out some books, and if we were lucky, stop in at the McDonald’s afterwards. As I got older, I remember looking for specific novels in the library, excited to see what they had for me to check out, disappointed when it wasn’t there, but knowing when I came back in the following week or two it may have been returned.

The memory of heading into the library all by myself, brandishing my library card with nervous pride, is one that sticks in my head and is replayed whenever I drive past said library. I felt that nervousness, yet excitement, that accompanied everything ‘grown up’ you did as a child or a tween. I felt so much older and wiser when I handed the card over myself, checking out my own books, as my mom waited patiently in the car for me. When I came out with my books, not needing any help from my mother, I felt like such a grown adult — to be able to check out books whenever I wanted, what wonder!

I don’t know when, exactly, I stopped going to the library, I just know that one day…I stopped. Sure, I may have spent countless hours IN the library at university, but it wasn’t spent reading the books that lined the shelves with a hot coffee or tea. It was usually spent locked away in a corner with papers, a mini laptop (yep, the days of a mini laptop of yore), Starbucks coffee cups, and Dr. Pepper bottles littering the area around me. While books were used for research, they definitely weren’t used for pleasure.

I, essentially, ignored libraries for a good long time, looking to buying books at stores or charity drives, instead. Even when Little Libraries started to take over, I didn’t think about walking around perusing their selection to find something good like my friend does in her neighbourhood. I drove to the store, still feeling that excitement I did when visiting libraries years ago, except now it cost me a Starbucks coffee and $20–50 a visit. As someone who hates ordering books through Amazon, only stooping so low when I’ve exhausted local bookstores, conglomerate or not, you’d think I would’ve stuck around the libraries a little longer.

All of this changed once I had a baby, though. Instead of just places to go to simply find books for myself, I started paying attention to the type of programs that libraries offer. I never realized, through all of these years of visiting the library, that they offered more than books. Why would I? All I wanted was to visit the building that housed so many wonderful books; I didn’t need anything else. And so, I found myself signing up for a library card this winter, excitedly thinking about all of the books I would be taking out for not only myself, but my daughter. I thought about the days we could spend here, reading together when she was a little older, thought about quiet days spent curled up in the chair in the corner of the library surrounded by plants and no one bothering me for anything.

It still took me far longer than it should have to take out a book for myself, but now that I broke back into it, I’m hooked. Sitting here in the morning, drinking my coffee and reading a new book feels extra blissful. I don’t have to worry about it not being good, and thus, wasting money on something I’m not enjoying. I can just sit and read and enjoy the book for what it is. No more, no less. Which is exactly what books are made for.

Libraries are looking a little worse for wear, but maybe if we started getting more involved with our own libraries in our communities, we could prove that they truly are important, not just for those looking for a safe space, a place to warm up, somewhere to go, but for the joy that it brings those who use their programs, peruse their selection, and find the happiness that a great novel can bring. I may have taken a slight break from libraries, but now that I’ve come back, I’m hooked.

Categories
Mom Life opinions

Why we Need to Talk About Pain Management for Women. Now.

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I’ve been a woman for a few decades now, but I am just beginning to realize how absolutely abysmal so many things are for us.

The top of the list for me right now?

Pain management or the lack of any type of management. As someone who has suffered from chronic pain for nearly two decades, I know a thing or two about pain. And about doctors, essentially brushing off my complaints and not helping put in place any preventative measures.

A nurse in the ER, 15 years after I dealt with my pain, was the first to tell me what I needed to ask my doctor for and to get taken seriously. The worst is that my doctor is one of the ‘good’ ones.

I’ve had doctors tell me to lose weight in order to feel better (not an altogether horrible idea, but one that is impossible when you are stuck in a chronic pain vicious circle). And doctors who gave me wicked pain meds and those who gave me absolutely nothing. Like everything in life, it’s a bit of everything rolled into one.

Some of you may be thinking, — well, you received pain medication when needed from one doctor — that’s great!’

Sure, it really is.

He didn’t hesitate to prescribe something stronger when I stated the basic T3s did absolutely nothing for my body. But he was also the one who stated that losing a bit of weight would — magically — fix my migraine issues. What an amazing tip from a neurologist.

Women’s medical issues are hardly taken seriously for many out there, including pain management, especially when it comes to anything regarding our reproductive organs.

The other day, while perusing Reddit for a little love-hate reading, I had the lovely privilege of reading some man’s rant about his vasectomy and how he didn’t receive adequate pain meds. What he wanted were T3s and all he was given was Tylenol or Advil. This was an absolute atrocity.

Could you imagine? Having a small procedure and only being given Tylenol or Advil for the pain?

He wondered why the doctor wouldn’t prescribe a few different drugs that would help so much better with the horrible pain he was feeling. I’m paraphrasing, of course. Another man chimed in with a hilarious tale of his own procedure and said that the freezing didn’t take on one side.

He was given the option of being put under and taken to hospital or to just deal with it for the next Itty Bitty amount of time it would take. He chose to deal with it as it would take only a minute, quite literally, and he said he felt okay with the pain.

While his story made me laugh with his small anecdotes on the procedure, I wondered why one doctor would send a patient to the hospital to be put under for a very short, non-invasive procedure, while my own ob-gyn never brought up anything of the like when I had a short, but more invasive procedure done in her office. I remember crying on the way home as the freezing wore off, surprisingly quickly, trying to sit on my one side that didn’t have searing pain, while safely driving.

I wasn’t told to rest for a week and take it easy. I wasn’t told to take as much Advil and Tylenol as I could muster to get through the pain. I wasn’t told much of anything except that it may need to be redone or checked on at a later date.

This is an ob-gyn that I trust and who is an extremely good and professional doctor, and yet, there was zero pain management given. It was like it was never a thought.

And, therein lies the difference between what happens when a male gets a procedure done and a female gets a procedure done.

The second man, the less whiney of the two, was offered a full show of everything the doctor could give him, while women are often left to just deal with anything that happens.

Weird how no woman I know has ever been given the option to be put under when they need their vagina sewn back up after tearing from delivering their child.

Weird how I’ve read about some women being given stitches before actual freezing happens after birth.

Weird how no woman I know has ever been given proper pain management after a c-section or a particularly hard vaginal birth — both of which are much harder procedures than a simple vasectomy.

Yes, birthing is natural. Yes, you can do it without medication. I’m not going to lie, for me, it wasn’t as painful as I thought, but still way more painful than I thought it would be. That’s not the norm, though, and everyone has their own pain tolerance, as the two vasectomy examples above can show. You can do a lot of things without pain management, but should you?

I was, and still am, for non-medicated births for a myriad of reasons, even though I ended up using some narcotics during my labour.

When I was explaining to my sister-in-law why I didn’t want the epidural or much of anything else they give you for labour, her response wasn’t the standard ‘you don’t get a gold medal for doing it without medication’ bullshit.

It was that none of the options seemed that great or helpful. This hits the nail on the head so much better than that ‘subtle’ shaming you’ll get in mom groups.

We’ve gone from all-natural births with knowledgeable midwives and women helping other women to drugging the shit out of women in a sort of half-assed attempt at helping women with the pain during childbirth. From wickedly strong drugs causing the women to lose consciousness, yet still conscious enough to thrash about hurting themselves.

To the use of the widely accepted epidural, which lots of women praise, and many loathe for multiple reasons: you can only get it during a certain window of time; it may only work on one side; the possibility of a spinal headache; and the fact that you cannot feel your lower half, the part that you need to get the baby out. For lots of women, staying flat on their back is an absolute ‘no’ as it does not allow them to move as the body intends. You won’t be able to feel when the best time to push is and pushing far too hard, allowing for the possibility of worse tearing.

And, this is mess of drugs that are supposed to work, but don’t help completely, is just for childbirth, never mind the countless women who have issues trying to get doctors to take their pain seriously in other areas of life.

Women are barely treated as humans when it comes to birthing and postpartum care. The focus is solely on the baby, leaving a near-complete lack of care for the mother. Anyone who has been pregnant can remember the, approximately, seven billion appointments and blood tests that need to be done to make sure that baby is okay. Ask her how many tests or appointments are made after the baby is born? One. One single ‘check-up’, where the main topic is birth control and, usually, lasts for less than 15 minutes.

We’re either told to be jacked up so high on drugs that paralyze you so you can barely move during labour, which isn’t beneficial to your body or the birthing process, or to just grin and bear it. Until the re-emergence of midwives and doulas becomes more mainstream, there is rarely an in between to be found.

While the male in the second vasectomy story also had the epidural wear off, like lots of women experience, he was given far more options for the pain than most women are even told about. Where are these options for women? Why was the first male’s pain tolerance ignored when talking about after-care? All parties should have adequate pain management for themselves.

The fact is, that no matter how far women have come in the world and how many times they have had to claw back their own rights, men are still treated better than women in most cases, especially in healthcare.

Like the many women who have gone through hell and back birthing their child and are told to just deal with the afterpain. Even if breastfeeding is not an option and there is no way pain medication can get into the baby’s bloodstream.

Or, the woman who has been trying to get countless doctors to take her severe menstrual pain, head pain, stomach pain, or any pain seriously. The healthcare system is failing women find relief.

If it weren’t so sad, it would be laughable that someone receiving a procedure that takes minutes with adequate freezing complains that over-the-counter medication isn’t good enough.

While most women are suffering after many longer procedures with nary pain management or given wild options that may give them not-so-great side effects. We need to start taking women’s pain seriously and work with them to find a suitable option for their bodies.

Let’s do better for women. Let’s do better for everyone.

Categories
Published Book

My Published Books

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Yay! I published some books!

You can find any of the printed books through Juniper and Oak Publishing here.
Right now, there is one children’s book for purchase: Potato Baby and Raccoon Friend. You can also buy it off of Etsy here.

More coming soon!

I’ve also a chapter-by-chapter release of a Christmas novella called The Snowy Christmas, available for free on Substack here.

Thanks muchly if you buy any copies of my book!

Categories
opinions

Can I Work in a Social Media Age?

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I don’t think I can be the type of person that Instagram needs you to be.

I don’t like reels. I honestly do not enjoy videos and would rather read, or look at static images.

I don’t make any stories.

I have no schtick.

It’s just me. Take it or leave it.

It’s why, though I made up a handle for this blog because, you know, marketing and all that jazz, I have yet to post. I don’t want to taint who I am, what this blog is all about. I don’t want to stress over the perfect photo for Instagram (even though it seems very rare that people actually post real photos anymore…the whole thing I absolutely loved about Instagram) and what great marketing campaign I should use.

I don’t want to end up worrying about posting the right stuff and falling down the rabbit hole of listicles and the like. There’s nothing wrong with listicles; I actually enjoyed writing a few of them. You’ll find some type of listicle-styled posts here every so often because easily broken down information is fun, and at times, feels right. But, I don’t want it to be the only thing this blog is about. Social media and click-bait titles.

Perhaps it’s not the best way of thinking when you want to make money from your craft, and who doesn’t want to make a little something something from what they love to do? But, when you need to be true to yourself, to your vision, it makes it a little harder.

I’ll end up posting on Instagram soon, I know. As soon as my flowers start blooming and the world looks shiny and new, again, I’ll get excited and feel the need to share what I see with the world. Who knows what that will look like, but I’m trying my bestest not to worry about it. Everything about this blog is focused on intuition. I may not have posts about it now, but intuition is my favourite piece of advice for everyone. Go with your gut and all that.

Besides, you can always, like Ross says, pivot.

Categories
Life

I Might be Ending my Relationship with Heels

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For years, I always gravitated towards heels. As someone who is barely 5’4, heels made the world seem brighter — and made me able to reach the higher shelves at work.

I loved heels since I knew how to walk in them in high school. One of my favourite compliments is from a great-aunt who said that I walked well in heels. It made me feel like I had accomplished something other women couldn’t master; people would ask how I could walk in heels without falling over, or hurting themselves. I would smugly joke that I’d just put one foot in front of the other, which was all I was really doing, anyways. Walking in a pair of heels isn’t the atrocity to me like it is to most women, and before my 30s I used to find them comfortable and preferred heels over flats, which hurt my feet. Standing all day, working at a shoe store, of course, in heels didn’t bother me — much. Standing all day in flats? Just as, or a little more, painful.

I’d ooh and aahh over the heels I would never be able to afford. You know the ones: Manolos, Louboutins, Jimmy Choo. I, with my 16-year old naive brain, vowed that I would be wearing at least one of these brand’s shoes by my 30s. Spoiler: I’m 32 and I own none of those and have no plans of buying them anytime soon. I’ve now moved onto lusting over some nice Tod’s. Another shoe I’ll, most likely, never be able to afford.

As I grew up, my rules around footwear became more specific. I refused to wear anything but heels to the bar, stating that I looked like a frumpy mess in flats or converse-style shoes. I’d walk (walk!) to the bar in my heels, dance for hours, then walk (seriously, did I even care about my feet?) home, only to take them off once inside the apartment. Sure, sitting down for a pee felt amazing not just because there’s something so wonderful about peeing while you’re incredibly intoxicated, but because I wouldn’t be standing. When you’re drunk, all thoughts of hovering over a dirty toilet go out the window. I wore ‘comfortable’ heels that would get me through the night, you know, 3–4 inches plus a platform. I must say, the platform does help out a little bit. Although, I don’t think I could make it across my living room in those heels that I now use as bookends.

When I first started my office job, there was no way I was going to go there in anything other than heels. Heels were for business women, powerful females who wore beautiful outfits and commanded a room. Flats were for the lower-downs, the ones who had to walk more often, delivering mail or messages. For the longest time, people thought I was at least 5’6 as I was never seen without heels. Once I started mixing in some flats, the jig was up and I couldn’t pretend I was tall-ish. I climbed the stairs to the office, doing my best to stay skinny and lose weight that I didn’t need to lose in the first place, in my heels, thinking that I was stronger. Besides, what loser would climb the stairs in runners and change into heels at her desk? What — did I think I was on a sitcom?

Fast forward a few years and I’ve still that lovely obsession with heels. They’re just so sleek, gorgeous, absolutely stunning. If only an inch or two tall, they make my feet feel good. They give me the boost of confidence needed to get things done, they still give me that powerful feeling. I’ve stopped wearing my 4-inch heels, mainly because I don’t go out to bars anymore and I’m not a stripper, but I still can’t move as fast as I can in runners, or even flats, even with a short heel. Obviously. Now, instead of shelves of heels gracing my closet, there’s a mix of loafers, oxfords, flats, and adorable runners that are appropriate for work. The shelf of heels grows smaller and smaller every year as I purpose more shoes that give me comfort.

I had always thought I’d wear heels to my wedding; even going so far as to buying a pair of gorgeous pink suede heels with a delicate gold design on the heel. But, they felt too high, too uncomfortable, too much to be wearing for the whole night. Besides, my dress would have to be altered to the length, and then what would happen if I took the heels off? Tripping over my dress at my own wedding was not on the list of things I wanted. Instead, I opted for flat mules: Badgley Mischka, brocade, and covered in jewels, of course, but flats nonetheless.

I still love their design, I still gravitate towards them in any store, yet my feet are sick of being at an angle. My knees are tired of being worn down by tiny stilts attached to my feet. I want comfort, I want support. I’ve stopped caring that I’m a short woman. So what if heels make me seem slimmer? If I’m uncomfortable for most of the day, is that worth it? I’ve finally realized that it isn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever fully break up with my heels, but we are definitely on a break. Just the kind that has you dialing their number at 2:00am, looking for that fix only your ex can scratch.

Categories
Life Mom Life

Why I Don’t Care if my House Looks Messy, Anymore

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Our home. Is there anything so wonderful and comfortable? The feeling of throwing yourself on your own bed with your own comfy blankets and pillows after travelling is one of the best feelings in the world. Sitting on the couch, snuggled in a nest of blankets and pillows (perhaps there’s a theme here at my house) reading or watching TV for hours on end is one of life’s greatest joys, even if it sounds so simple. Our houses are meant to be our safe space, our comfiest spots to relax and unwind after the stressors of dealing with the public, co-workers, the elements. 

So, why have we started to turn them into museums?

I used to gobble up home decor magazines like mad. My Pinterest page has boards specified to certain types of renovations or decorating tips, and others just for things I’ve found interesting. I won’t lie, a lot of them I don’t look at again, but it sure feels exciting to look at perfectly manicured houses with perfectly decorated walls and furniture. 

I’m the type of person who changes out their throw pillows in the spring, summer, fall, winter, and Christmas. I have seasonal tea towels and hand towels. I love decor that give you clues to what season it is. When we used to own a coffee table, I’d change out the decor that would sit in the middle when the weather started changing. It always ended up messed up and full of plates and cups as we lived our lives, pushing the centerpiece over when more space was needed, but I still maintained the idea that the coffee table needed to be beautifully decorated at all times. Because that’s all I saw on Pinterest and in magazines. 

My house needed to look picture-perfect like I had Better Homes and Gardens coming over to do a spread. 

Then, I had a baby. 

Yep. That old tale. 

I was exhausted and something had to give. It wasn’t going to be my time with my child, giving her the attention and care that she deserved and needed, so out went the floors. What used to be washed two to three times a week was now washed once a month. The dishes were done as often as needed simply so we would have things to cook with, and the laundry was the same. Our house got cluttered and messy and so very lived in. 

And, I realized that it didn’t really matter. Not one fucking bit. 

So, once we came out of that newborn stupor and things got a little easier as the months went by, and even easier over a year later, I changed my habits. The dishes are done more frequently, as is the laundry, but those floors? They’re now only washed once a week, instead of my favourited — at minimum — twice a week. 

There are cheerios stuck in every single corner or cranny of this house, no matter how often I sweep and vacuum. My living room is littered with toys and doesn’t look very Better Homes and Garden-esque even when they’re put away in a, reasonably, pleasing arrangement. Yet, it feels less stressful and better than before. Because we’re living. I’m not so hyper-focused on what my house looks like, anymore, as I choose to live my life instead of clean and place baubles so perfectly here and there. 

Yes, I made myself a cleaning list. Yes, I’ve started to add seasonal decor back into my life, again, but it’s not as obsessive as it used to be. I no longer stress about the fact that my door has no hanger or wreath on it in between Christmas and Spring, having to run out and find, or make, the perfect piece that fits in between that weird time where it’s still snowy, yet not as festive as December. It no longer matters. 

We spend far too much time trying to make our homes absolutely perfect, and yes, adding our own style and flair to the place makes it feel homier and more wonderful to come home to, but it still needs to fit our lifestyles. 
When we can’t enjoy ourselves, sitting comfy on the couch because we’re too busy worrying about whether or not the decor is perfectly centered, or if it’s not on trend, anymore, then what’s the point?

When we’re already so overworked everywhere in our lives, trying our best to do everything better than we did the day before and the generation before us, why are we adding more stress to ourselves? Why are we killing ourselves to have a picture-perfect house, especially if we have kids? Homes are meant to be lived in and comfortable. A few toys on the ground and a couple of dishes in the sink from yesterday’s supper isn’t going to ruin our lives. If anything, it’ll allow us to start to actually enjoy it. 

Categories
Mom Life

Living with that Mom Belly

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A woman’s weight. You’d think we’d be over this obsession, this thought that it is more than her worth, that it makes up her worth, and yet…

There’s nothing like putting your body through an absolute wringer. Getting pregnant, watching as your belly swells and all kinds of crazy shit happens to your body. People compliment you, tell you how beautiful you look, how you’re absolutely ‘glowing’. They cherish your body, worship it for bringing life into this world. And then, the birth comes and a month or two passes and it’s no longer beautiful. It’s no longer worshipped for bringing life into this world. It’s viewed at as disgusting, as lazy, as the thought that the ‘wife’ let herself go, that her husband must be just beside himself with disappointment that his partner’s body has not ‘snapped back’ yet.

There is so much that happens to your body when you’re pregnant, it’s wild. From organs rearranging themselves to your uterus expanding, to your brain, basically, short-circuiting itself, it’s a wonder why anyone would call pregnancy, and the days after birth anything but extraordinary. The fact that my body makes actual food is insane. Bodies are like that. They’re mind-blowingly extraordinary and wonderful.

We need to start thinking of our bodies in those terms. Extraordinary. Wonderful. Think about what your body has done for you today. Think about everything it has done for you in the past, whether it’s getting pregnant and birthing a whole damn human, or you’re participating in a triathalon. Bodies. Are. Extraordinary.

Unfortunately, the mass media and social standards we have adhered to for decades thinks otherwise. Yes, there seems to be a pretty big shift in how bodies are viewed nowadays, as people become more comfortable in their skin, but we’re not there yet. We’re not in the place where we can sit and love and our bodies unconditionally, never worrying about stretch marks (which happen to everyone, whether or not you’ve gotten pregnant), never worrying about cellulite (anyone remember the early 2000s? As a teenager — a fucking teenager — I was using anti-cellulite cream on my thighs so as not to look dimply), never worrying about a soft belly and a belly button indent showing through a skirt, dress, or shirt.

We have fallen in love with women of all shapes and sizes, and yet, when it comes to our bodies after birth, we revert back to those stupid social standards we’ve obsessed over. We wonder why our body is so squishy, as our baby nestles happily in our arms, laying their soft little head on our soft big bodies. We look at our breasts and remember when they used to sit upright without any help at all, as our baby finds nourishment. We lament the stretch marks, coating ourselves in creams and butters and oils that tell us everything will be alright again, that our bodies will go back to exactly how they were before, even though they are nowhere near how they were before.

We don’t want to give our bodies time to heal, time to nourish our babies, time to nourish ourselves. We want to look how we did pre-pregnancy. We want to wear the clothes we used to fit, and want them to fit just as comfortable as before. We want our partners to lust after us like they did before, even if they are still lusting after us; we assume everything has changed. Because that guilt creeps in. That idea that we need to look a certain way. That this celebrity or that celebrity has the most perfect body you’ve ever seen, and she just gave birth three months ago, all the while forgetting that said celebrity has money to throw at every problem that arises, has help around the clock so they can work out until their bodies look how they think they should look, how media tells them to look, starting the vicious cycle all over again.

So where do we go from here? We stop hiding what our bodies look like. We start to love what our body has done for us, everything it can do. We stop attacking ourselves, attacking our bodies, just to look a certain way. We start realizing that a little bit of a mom belly isn’t the end of the world. When dad bods are trending, it’s time to take a step back and wonder if we’ve really just fallen off the map as people. Because if a dad that has not birthed a human being but still have a belly, still be a wonderful person, still love his children, and still be sexy to not only his partner, but to others? Then moms can, too.

Categories
travel

What to do if you end up in a Bad Accommodation

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Once, I stayed in a horrible place in Brazil. It was my first time traveling alone abroad and I was with my friend who lived there. We decided to go to Buzios, a beach town that I highly recommend, and stayed in a place her mom said had great food. Well, maybe the food was great, but the accommodations sucked. The beds were awful, there were kids next door (who seemed to live there) who were extremely loud and watched cartoons at high decibels early in the morning. Dogs barked all night long and we could hear people constantly.

Not knowing anything about Brazil besides my friend’s parent’s apartment (that was pretty nice) I was staying in before we went to Buzios, I thought to myself that this might be normal. My friend seemed to be sleeping and didn’t say anything the whole night. I decided I’d suck it up and just go with it. Then, the next morning came and my friend said we had to leave, that this place was absolutely awful. Sighing with relief, I packed my suitcase and we found an absolutely amazing hotel a little further down the road. It was expensive (for Brazil standards, but our dollar was much stronger) and my friend hesitated. I said it was my treat and happily booked the weekend for CAD$70.

Sometimes, bad accommodations happen. Sometimes, there are little things you can live with like tiny hotels or apartments, 5th floor walk-ups or a shitty view. Other times, you may feel unsafe or not receive a good night’s sleep. Always, always, always leave if you feel unsafe in a place. You don’t even need to book in. If you feel uneasy the second you step inside, cut your losses and go elsewhere. Never stay somewhere that makes you feel unsafe just to save a buck or two.

On my last trip to Paris our apartment sucked. It was in the 5th floor (y’all know that means 6 flights of stairs, not 5), it was tiny and while it was cleaned, it wasn’t as clean as I would’ve liked. The first two things are normal in the Paris apartment world, especially if you don’t want to pay 200€/night. The cleanliness? Once I wiped down a counter with wet ones, I felt okay. Our bathroom had a bathtub and no shower curtain. Showering in the morning took some maneuvering not to flood the place.

Annoyed at the time (and with a lot of things going wrong on that trip), I wondered if, at 31, I was too old to be doing these kind of travel stories. I should be in a plush hotel with balconies in every corner. Then, I stepped outside and went on my way exploring and re-visiting my favourite city and it was okay. Now that I’ve put some time and distance between myself and the apartment, I’m not as annoyed, not as upset.

If it’s something you can talk to the hotel or your airbnb host about, do it. Don’t yell at them, but ask them about any issues you have or bring up any concerns. They may be unaware (like a shitty house cleaner) and it can help you and guests in the future.

If it’s something really bad and it falls under any protection plan by the third party website, contact them. Read through their entire guidelines immediately to make sure you’re calling them for the right reason and at the right time (like if they will not cover you if you stay the night).

Leave an honest review. Scathing reviews aren’t needed, but don’t sugarcoat things. If you had a hard time with x, let other potential guests know, especially if you enjoyed your time, but if you knew about it going in, you’d have had a better time (like ear plugs and noise cancelling head phones in that Buzios place).

Buy what you need and chalk it up to a travel experience. Obviously, this can get expensive real quick, but if it’s something relatively cheap and easy to get and it will definitely make your stay better, just do it. That Buzios hotel? Not enough towels, at all. So, I bought some and still use my adorable fish patterned towels today. Other cheap items that make stays infinitely better? Wine. Lots of it.

Don’t let it ruin your trip. Unless your trip was meant for spa and plush luxuries, get over it. Have a cry, have a yell, curse the country you’re visiting, then get on with it. Because there’s more out there to see than your hotel room.

Categories
travel

Overtourism is Ruining the Charm of Travel

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I have something to confess: I think I’m breaking up with Paris.

No longer does she woo me with her charm. No longer is the city invigorating and inviting to me. No longer does my heart sing and all my worries disappear. Instead, I’m left with dread, annoyance and confusion as to what my city used to be. While Paris has never been my place of residence, I’ve felt a deep connection to it, one that restores my hope and happiness.

Overtourism is killing everything around us. And, it’s not just affecting long line-ups, the environment and locals, it’s affecting me. And we all know that’s a real reason to freak out.

It’s not just Paris that I’m breaking up with, I’ve been thinking long and hard about my long-term relationship with travel and whether or not we should end it.

After my next trip that is being taken to visit a friend who has gone to live abroad, I’m thinking twice about big vacations. I’m wondering if they’re worth it and whether or not I should continue taking them. If it’s just crowded areas of tourists seeking the same thing, then why am I going? I don’t need to have snowflake unique vacations, completely different than everyone else, but when the vibe of the city, the whole reason you’re seeing a new place, is gone or altered because of tourists, then why be that tourist?

I’ve also wondered about posting travel tips on my old blog, and now stories here. Do I want to urge others to continue travelling? Is it really something people should still be doing so obsessively? I’m no longer impressed with someone moving away for a year or three to travel the world; who hasn’t done that in this day and age? But, then, I also think about how exciting it was to travel for the first time, the feeling of being totally on your own and figuring things out. This was a little harder as Google Translate didn’t exist and roam-as-you-go plans weren’t a thing yet when I started. I had to buy a phone and then pay-as-you-go cards, topping up in a different country as we moved and used up minutes, for my first month long trip. But, that was part of the fun, part of exploring a new city or new country; you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing and that was okay. The ambiance of the place shone through and you got lost in it.

Maybe it’s more than just stopping travel altogether (something I don’t think we should do or would work out). Maybe we become more respectful as a species. Maybe we start by going back to the way things used to be and only stay in Inns, B&B’s, hotels, or God forbid, hostels. Maybe we reserve apartment rentals for when we are really staying long period of time. Longer than a week, longer than a month. While I’m all for renting an apartment abroad and absolutely love heading to the market to make delicious dinners, I don’t like what it’s come to be. Apartments that changes the way the locals live, thus taking away the reason you rented that apartment in Le Marais in the first place: to feel like you’re living a stereotypical Parisienne life (although, the tiny apartment rentals keep you in that stereotype). This is the whole reason I, and many others, rent apartments abroad.

Maybe it’s best if we all stay home and explore the world around us instead of thousands of miles away. Maybe we take less trips and save more and splurge every so often, spending more on tourism in that country than we do now.

Will I be okay with that? Will I be okay simply going to our cabin and relaxing and hiking and exploring my beautiful country? Some days I think so. Then, when I feel like I’ve lost hope in the world, and know how restoring France is for me, I second guess it.

While I scream at the city for changing, for the new people in its life taking its attention away from me, I’m not sure I’ll actually break up with Paris, with traveling. This post has been full of maybes, quietly telling myself, and everyone else, that I’m not done with traveling, not yet.

Because even with the overtourism and the different vibe of the city, it still felt familiar, it still felt like home. I remembered those roads I would walk down to the market. I remembered the hardness of the green chairs in the Tuileries as I’d scribble down thoughts or read until the chill in the air was too much and I had to break for a café au lait. I still felt the excitement when coming across something new or driving through the winding roads of the South of France.

These feelings are the ones I remember when I think of traveling and I hope that they won’t be lost forever.

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The World Feels like it’s Spinning out of Control

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I never used to be this scared. This anxious. I used to go head first into things, thinking I was invincible, that I could do absolutely anything if I just put my mind to it. I’ve lost that, and while some of it is my own fault, I’m going to selfishly put the blame on the entire world.

This world that we live in feels so absolutely chaotic I sometimes wonder how we will survive another day. Gas prices, food prices, housing, it’s all going up, up, up, while wages stay stagnant or they rise slightly and then inflation sets in, resulting in zero progress.

The threat of nuclear war is, once again, on our doorsteps as Putin unravels a little more every day, desperate to win a war that — almost — everyone is aghast he started in the first place.

A pandemic ripped through the entire world, bringing the economy and everyone to their knees. We found out just how reliant we are on certain countries to keep us in our Amazon orders. We found out that some people will believe absolutely anything if it’s spewed on Facebook or Instagram. We also found out how strong science can be. Sometimes, the spinning leads to some good things.

More shootings happened in America, and will obviously continue to happen as everyone clutches their guns tightly to their chests, screaming of ‘freedom’ as they bury children who didn’t deserve a single one of these horrific moments.

Still in America, women’s rights are being taken away at alarming rates. The most ‘free’ country in the world always felt constricting to me, but now it’s reverted back to times most of us have only read about in history books.

We learned, or re-learned, of a dark, dark past with the Canadian government and Indigenous children. Some schools seemed to have taught it (I remember this from elementary/middle school social studies), while others buried the history.

Every day a new poison comes to light. This will kill you, now. That will kill you, now. Check everything vintage for lead, but also don’t buy new stuff. Plastic will drown us all, vegetarian is the way to go, but also an environmentally friendly diet that includes meat is great, but don’t forget a new kind of milk, but it takes more water to make, but try the vegan butter, but it contains palm oil.

Our weather is turning on us, creating horrible disasters that are the norm. After two years of intense drought in my region, I second-guessed vacationing in France this year as they experience horrible drought conditions. The fact that this is the new normal kept my plane ticket active. I’ve also gotten pretty good at water conservation, so I guess that’s helpful when another person is selfishly added to a country.

All of this is happening, and we’re becoming desensitized to it all. Just like the start of the pandemic, which had me in tears as I read about people dying in Italy, and yet if you fast forward to only a few months later, seeing that only 10 people died of covid in my province didn’t seem so bad.

Yes, while I’ve listed a complete shitshow above, a lot of horrible things have happened throughout time. We really don’t need to look very far, it’s happened time and time again, and will clearly keep happening because humans are the most destructive animal on this planet. My father-in-law remembers having to duck and cover under his desk due to nuclear threats. We’ve seen many wars in the past 150 years. We’ve seen the Depression. We’ve seen times where women didn’t have the right to vote or own land or do anything. We’ve seen more than one pandemic. This is not new, and yet, it feels so powerfully heavy. Social media and constant news may be the culprits of this as we are constantly connected and aware of what is happening, and, yet, something feels different. It feels more ominous as time goes on. The future hasn’t looked bright in a long time, and some of that may be on my own outlook, my pessimism, and my anxiety. But, a lot has to do with yet another round of history repeating itself and one too many revolutions needing to be fought.

I’ve no easy answers to all of this, as there rarely is one to encompass everything, but we need to do better. As humanity, as a community, as the world. What other animal destroys their own happiness and their own home so easily, so readily? We need to grow up, look in the mirror, and wonder if this is really what we want our lives to look at. Because I’m sick of feeling scared of the future, scared of my daughter’s future. The future should always contain hope, always look bright, even if that light is barely peaking through.