. . . Is This Thing On?

It was never my intention to make myself visible to the general public, as one does when they enter the realm of social media, by broadcasting my innermost thoughts to the world. Even now, if I think about it too hard, it makes me recoil inwardly in horror. For the longest time, my superpower of choice was invisibility. I wanted to blend in, and be unseen. To be able to observe without leaving a mark, because when you aren’t perceived, you can’t be judged.

So why am I writing a public blog of all things? It’s a lot like sharing your personal journal with strangers.

I’m so glad you asked.

The naked truth is: I stop caring about these things when I’m high, and that’s the way I like it.

I don’t consider myself special. As a thirty-five-year-old single, heterosexual, white female, I have no delusions of grandeur (although I have hopes of it, like we all do). Starting this blog was very similar to my intention to try drugs for the first time, disillusioned as I was by the false promises of a Boomer generation assuring happiness and a life above the poverty line by doing X, Y, and Z.

“Just print your resume on some nice paper, and hand it to someone in the human resources department!”  My dad told me, when I was looking for my first job.

Ah yes, once they see I’ve thrown a few pennies toward my paper budget, surley I will stand out from the hundreds of applicants vying for the same position!

Just as pennies have been phased out here in Canada, contacting an actual person from an HR department has become an equally difficult transaction. I don’t think my dad believes me when I tell him how I’ve spent many angry moments repeating myself into the phone, and being wrongly directed to a different department extension. And this was even before the pandemic happened.

It’s natural for the social and economic landscape to change with each generation, and many people now are in the same boat. I couldn’t afford a house with a decent job even when I was engaged to be married, and I sure as hell can’t afford one now with my two, freeloading cats.  The world just doesn’t seem to work on an honour system anymore, and giving your ‘all’ at a job doesn’t guarantee your boss is even going to feel sorry for you when purse strings are tight, and they need to make some cuts.

I’ve started to realize that the more efficient you are at a job, the more responsibility you get. Sometimes, it feels like a punishment when you do your best, and you are soon expected to do more with less. So what does one do when faced with the endless spiral on this hamster wheel of a life, coming out no further ahead than when you started despite your momentum?

Naturally, I turned to drugs.

Initially, I turned towards psychedelic mushrooms, thinking that tripping out would short-cut me to answers that promised prosperity. Wouldn’t it be so much easier if our great-great-great ancestors could give us visions under a psychedelic haze, and tell us what we’re supposed to be doing with our lives?

I’ve always been spiritually inclined, seeking and learning about occult practices like tarot and oracle cards, pendulums, palmistry, astrology, and modern witchcraft. It was more romantic to assume the answers to life were out there—with someone or something that had access to them—and that if I just looked hard enough, I could find them. If I could just be pointed in the right direction (I thought), I’d be able to play life through.

Alas, life doesn’t work like that.

Having no previous experience with any intoxicants except alcohol (minus the complete irony of being on antidepressants my entire life), I looked to my brother to procure some magic (psychedelic) mushrooms. He completely blindsided me, suggesting first to try weed (cannabis), disclosing that for the complete newb, it wouldn’t be as intense a ‘trip’.

It was mind-opening to say the least, and when I found my groove with cannabis, I started to do something I hadn’t done since I was a child. I started to write. In particular, I started to journal.

At the time, it was a recording of my trips down the rabbit hole, reflecting on corporeal needs and indulgences, and escaping into nostalgia with movies and TV shows that, under the influence, made it feel like I was experiencing them for the first time.

The more I wrote, the more meaning I took from my experience using cannabis as a tool for self-reflection, and ultimately, a reflection on life in general. My musings became what is now known as ‘Words of Weedsdom’: my first (but hopefully not last) self-published book which you can learn more about elsewhere on this website, if you are interested.

You know how in Sex and the City Carrie Bradshaw was always musing about her life, writing by that lovely bay window she had in her apartment? She always sat there, brooding and writing, dressed tastefully just a few feet away from her walk in closet which was filled with expensive shoes. (Pretty sweet gig for someone on a writer’s salary . . .) After finishing my book, I continue to brood and write about life like Carrie—only I’m on a couch, bra-less, with my pajama pants riding up my butt crack as I slowly slide down over time. Since I’m certainly not getting paid to do it, I figure I can let the professionalism slide in solidarity.

I still smoke, vape, and indulge in edibles on a regular basis (as regular as I can while still being a functioning capitalist slave), and what I learn about myself and society through a psychedelic haze never stops. Weedsdom evolved into a practice—which I lovingly refer to as Bud-dism—and although my journey became a story which I tell in my book, I feel that there is still so much to say.

I continue to discover things about life that should be more obvious than they are, or at least, that should be talked about more. For example, my experience has taught me that it’s only when you learn to be vulnerable with others, that you find your self-confidence.

It’s using the self-fulfilling prophecy to your advantage, or the law of attraction: the freedom that comes with allowing yourself to be yourself is empowering. The power that is inherently in the word, is also found within.

It’s natural to fear the inevitable judgement that comes from others (real or imagined) when we let our guards down, but it’s important to remember that feeling what you feel is never wrong—emotions just exist. They are a product of being human, and with these big ol’ brains of ours, we have the power of Mind over Matter.

More importantly, if people don’t like you for expressing your authentic self? (See below)

They don’t live your life, so they shouldn’t control how you feel about yourself. The people that truly matter are the ones that see who you are, and want to include you in their lives.

You do you, boo.

Cannabis has helped me rewire my fears, so I’m out here doing me. It’s terrifying, but I’ve been invisible for so long that it’s time for a change. Bravery is an expression of strength, and you can’t be brave without first being afraid.

Maybe you find yourself thinking it’s time for a change too. If so, bloom, my beautiful flowers. Express yourselves authentically, because freedom waits on the other side. Fear is in your mind, and when you realize this, you find strength you didn’t even know you had.

If I can do it, so can you.

No trip needed.