Light Side Up.

The musings of a barefoot bass player. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

Hey Lady. How Old Are You??

My name is Tanya. I am 31 years, 7 months and 25 days old. 

I was born in 1987. I grew up with Cabbage Patch Kids, Loonie Tunes, and Polly Pocket (version 1.0); and when I was 10 I wanted to be (or meet) a Spice Girl more than I wanted anything else in the whole world. 

Everything they said about your 30s is true. It’s way more gooder than the other ages I’ve experienced. (Except 7. I really loved 7.) 

I’m entering this era of my life where I feel more confident. I have better friends and deeper, more meaningful relationships. I can say no to things that need to be said no to, and I have a handle on drawing healthy boundaries. On the flip side, I’m also noticing a new-to-me trend: more and more frequently my peers, more prevalently women, are starting to become more illusive about their age. 

I can’t begin to tell you how much this bums me out. 

Don’t get me wrong, I understand aspects of this choice (which I’ll get into a little later here), but even still, I just can’t get on board with it. 

I love being 31. I have never felt more sure of who I am as a person. I feel acutely aware of my traits, for better AND worse. I have so many tools to manage the various challenges that come my way. I am wittier, my sense of humour is more developed, and I am quicker to retort in a debate. I know myself, I have opinions and I’m less afraid of sharing them. I am less concerned with being considered a threat when I share my point of view - and yet I am also simultaneously more compassionate and aware of my language when I do. I have an accumulation of knowledge and experience that has served me very well, and I have more opportunities to share from those experiences than I ever have. 

I am also under the belief that this will continue. As I continue to age I will accumulate more understanding of the world, myself, and the people around me. [Insert cliche-meme about wine and women getting better with age blahblah.] 

To those of you that choose not to disclose your age, I want you to know that I have compassion for that choice, and my intention is not for you to feel judged or called out. I understand that the culture and society we live in may treat you with certain bias based on the age grouping it puts you in. (Isn’t that awesome? How we’re all put into GROUPS. Just love that. Sarcasm-font, where are you when I need you?) I understand that this choice may make you feel more accepted. Or even more confident. Whatever your reasons may be, they’re yours. And they are entirely valid. 

It doesn’t change that I can’t help but hope that less people will make this choice. By hiding our age, we’re reinforcing and agreeing with society that our age is something to be ashamed of; and that our value is tied up in our physical appearance and youth. 

Naturally this hide-your-age mentality is ever-present in the entertainment industries. It seems there is this looming deadline; this unspoken belief that an (female) artist (or actor or dancer…or or or…) can’t ‘break’ if they are 30 or older. So naturally, staying in the youth bucket lets you a bit more time to pursue your dream. And this is exactly where you lose me. 

NO! People. BE BOLD. Be something new, and different. If you don’t think the industry has room for an artist over 30 to break. Then BE the artist over 30 that breaks. Don’t be another 20-something year old. They have a butt-load of them already. (Note: No disrespect (or ‘shade’ as you call it) to you 20-somethings. I love you. Muah.) BE YOU! Be the 40-something year old that breaks. Hell, be the 50 or 60-something year old that breaks. Try to convince me that you should put an age limit on your ambitions, it won’t work. I don’t stop working at the things that fill my heart because society doesn’t approve of my age. 

Continuing to hide our age silently condones all this societal behaviour. It silently condones that we are of more value for our appearance and others’ perception than we are for our experiences and our knowledge. It reinforces that our value is wrapped around our aesthetic, and our ability to be ‘care-free’ and ‘fun’. (Because we are predominantly fun in our twenties? Is that it?) 

Here’s what. Be aesthetic, be care-free, be fun! AND be opinionated, be deep, be expressive. Have values and morals you fight for and stand by. Use your voice, your heart, and your body. 

What a world it would be if we saw the true depth in women. These amazing beings that have vast array of amazing characteristics: Beautiful, powerful, compassionate, funny, charismatic, loving, nurturing, fierce, intelligent. What poetry and symbolism it is that these same incredible beings are the source of all human life. (Shout out to the men for your (very) small contribution.)  

Celebrate your life. Celebrate your age. You have had this amazing privilege to live a human life; each year being this beautiful gift that some don’t receive. Each passing decade offers this glorious opportunity to give less f**ks than the previous; To focus on what are the truly impactful parts of life and recognize how much choice and power you have in your own life. We GET that people. We GET to age. We GET to give less f**ks. We GET to CHOOSE our life! 

No matter how young you look, or you act; or what your job is, or if you go to school; how old your kids are, or if you don’t have kids. Whatever reason you hide your age, whatever your justification; BE your age, and teach society that your age doesn’t designate what you can accomplish or act like or become. Whatever your reason may be. Put it in front you and PROVE IT WRONG. Be brilliant. Be radiant. Be you.

Okay. Maybe I’m getting a little too #inpso here, and if I’m gunna keep this up I’m going to have to change my name to Tany Rybbins. Or something. (In case you missed it, that was a really really poorly executed joke attempting to compare my previous paragraph to the work of Tony Robbins.)

 The point of the story is - ain’ no shame in your aging game. Being that it is inevitable and completely unavoidable. So go act your shoe size; regardless of what your birth certificate says.  

[tanyaryanmusic]

10 Reasons Why Mellenials Don’t Suck.

Dear Baby Boomers, 

I’m bored with all the memes, the videos, the extensive social media content that pokes fun at the entitlement and laziness of mellenials. It’s overdone people. Let’s move on. The joke is old. 

I mean, outside of the fact that I’m impressed with you for figuring out how to create a meme in the first place. How about start using this new skillset to pick on the generation that decided eating Tide Pods was cool. 

Also, has anyone else picked up on the irony of Baby Boomers making fun of us for our participation ribbons and not being able to lose? Guys. Boomers. YOU DID THAT. 

We didn’t come up with the participation ribbon idea. You did. We were kids at the time. We didn’t have any say in the decision. You thought that was an awesome idea. And so as we are entering our twenties and thirties, please pardon us as we now attempt to navigate the world, and unlearn everything you taught us. Holy smokes man. No wonder I’m looking for my life participation ribbon. I can’t catch a break with you people. 

Here’s the thing, you just don’t have a comprehensive understanding of us. Your opinions on us are lacking a little perspective. We actually aren’t that messed up, we’re doing pretty okay actually; you just have to be looking with your eyes a little wider. But it’s cool man, I get it. You’re getting those bifocal things and sometimes it’s tough to see everything you need to, so I broke it down for you here. All you need to do is grab your readers and you’re good to go. 

10 Reasons Why Mellenials are AWESOME. 

1. Objective and Flexible. 

Think about an opinion you have; maybe one based in politics, religion - or loading the dishwasher. You probably won’t even consider believing me right now when I say you aren’t correct. I’ve seen you baby boomers, your opinions are your truth. We’re a little different than you. We don’t live like that because we know, that there are 3 sides to every story. And one opinion, is just an opinion. Including our own.

What you have mistaken for indecisive or flaky is actually an indication of a high EQ. We have the ability to be compassionate, emphatic and objective. Which means we have the ability to adapt to circumstances as they come at us; and adjust our opinions as new data enters our field. This means we’re smart.

2. Expressive.

We have a voice. And we use it. I think there’s this misunderstanding that because we complain about things or make our discomfort public, that we have no capacity to handle difficulty. Not the case. We can handle it just fine. AND we’re going to talk about it. Because we CAN. We grew up in a world where it’s completely safe to be heard. So we speak. 

3. Hard working. 

I keep seeing these memes about mellenials being lazy. What da fk is this? The vast majority of my peers are incredibly hardworking. Often times holding down a job (or two) while in school - or pursuing music or another entrepreneurial passion. You and The Reading Rainbow guy told us our whole lives that we can do anything we put our minds to. So we’re doing everything we can to fight for what we want from our lives. Where does this lazy thing come from? Did you work with that ONE 24 year old that was always on his phone and then decided to label an entire generation based on that experience? That’s not very fair, is it?  

4. Creative. 

Don’t get mad when we don’t listen to you. Mellenials look for new ways to do things. So even though it frustrates you when we don’t listen to your instruction; we’re finding our own way. 

We had the privilege of having such a safe world to grow up in, that our minds expand into so many wonderful spectrums. And so we get to try things in new and creative ways. Maybe we’ll even do it better than you did originally! And don’t worry, when that’s exactly what happens, we’ll pretend not to notice. We’re pretty mellow, so we can make room to buffer your ego. 

5. Harry Potter. 

We made sure that Harry Potter will live on forever. You’re welcome. 

6. Easy-Going. 

Another symptom of not being fixed in a position is that we can be pretty loose on our schedule too. So we run late sometimes. (All the time.) But hey, turns out running 5-10 minutes late isn’t a big deal (unless it is). So, calm your titties Frank. Everything is going to be fine.  

7. Entitled. 

Sure. You’ve been using this one against us for years, but it’s actually not a bad quality. Read the book Outliers by Malcom Gladwell. He discusses the importance of entitlement when in pursuit of goals and actual achievement of successes. Entitlement is the same quality that allows one to speak up against things they feel unjust. It is the quality that makes one feel they deserve more from their life. It also cues up and stimulates the need for the placement of boundaries. A lot of people are uncomfortable drawing boundaries. So maybe the whole entitlement is an issue for Baby Boomers because you actually have to face conflict and draw a boundary. And I get it. That’s hard to do. But that’s not entirely a millennial issue - so let’s share this accountability here, whaddya say? 

8. We say literally, literally all the time. 

And at least half the time use it appropriately. 

9. BEST parents ever. 

Baby Boomers for the win right?  Baby Boomers are easily our most vocal critics, yet, can we all just take a moment to acknowledge that you are also our parents, our teachers, and our mentors. So if you think we’re kinda messed up maybe you could take a little bit of ownership here? We watched YOU. We learned from YOU. You were the ones who told us what we were capable of. What we deserve. And now you’re criticizing us for becoming exactly what you raised us to be? Come on. That’s just rude. Especially because we love you. We think you’re awesome. So can you lay off a little? We’re doing the best we can. 

10. Progressive 

Yep. 

We’re fighting for the LGBTQ, we’re pro-choice, we’re working our asses off for gender equality, we’re loud because Black Lives Matter, and racism is useless. We’re building environmental awareness and uncovering the impact of pollution and the over-use of plastic. We’re giving voice to women that have been harassed, raped, and abused. And we don’t feel that someone’s sexual orientation is the highlight of their story. 

*

There are countless qualities that make Mellenials awesome. Obviously I’m aware that we’re not that we’re entirely unflawed. I’m simply arguing that it’s so easy to find someone’s shortcomings, so maybe try to dig a little deeper for the qualities we possess that are unique of your generation and are actually quite awesome. (Plus, if you don’t stop being mean, we’ll stop helping your iPhone updates and your bluetooth devices.)

My mom always says that someone will become exactly what you expect them to become. So maybe if you changed your expectations of us, we might surprise you.

So can you lay off with the memes and the sh*t-posting? I think we turned out okay, despite your potential belief of the contrary. Millennials are kicking ass. 

Now give me my ribbon. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

The Body Mind-Virus.

All of us - but especially women. 

We need to stop. 

We need to stop making those small underhanded self-deprecating remarks about our bodies. Even the ones where we’re joking - because ultimately, we’re not joking. Our poor little bodies hear our own criticism through the thin veil of ‘humour’ and buy into our own sales pitch hook, line and sinker. 

Besides. No one hears these remarks and thinks “hahaha you’re so funny.”

These self-deprecating remarks - no matter how light or well-intended will leave another woman considering her own insecurities, flaws and perceived physical deficits. 

It’s crazy to me how many women are unhappy with the way they look. I mean, of course I understand it as I also fall into that statistic… but it makes me so sad.  Because when I look at you - my friends, sisters, the women I love so dearly. I don’t see your physical ‘flaws’. I don’t look at you and think you need to drop a few or that your hips aren’t in proportion with your chest. I am usually preoccupied by appreciating your beauty and your drive; or admiring your wit, or I’m in awe of your talent and intellect. 

There are so many reasons making healthy choices should be a priority for you - and the most unimportant is the number which represents the calculation of your body mass’s gravitational impact on the earth’s surface. 

Making choices in effort to be more conscientious and healthy is important for a better quality of life. For the ability to move your body in a more agile manner, especially as you age. For the health of your bones, joints and muscles. For the sake of your digestion and the impact on your visceral health. Because physical activity is shown to have positive impact on brain function and intellectual development. 

You do not need to lose 5 pounds. Or 20. Or 3. Or 23. 

Many times I’ve had various friends remark on their weight - she needs to lose some, or she is really fat right now or whatever she says… and I suddenly become hyper aware that I’m bigger than she is…  I’m 5’10. On average I am taller and naturally a bit wider than most of my friends. I don’t usually think about it. Until I do. She says it, and then even though I wasn’t thinking about losing weight, I am now. I mean, if she needs to - does that mean I should too? Does she think I’m fat? I mean, she must. Factually speaking, I am larger than she is. I suddenly wish I had a baggier shirt on… 

So if you don’t feel the language you use to regard your body is harming your own relationship with your self-image, would you consider adjusting your language for the women and girls around you? Like me. Cause I need that support. I don’t want to need it. But I do. I want so badly to feel good in my body. I am practicing so hard to be in a better relationship with this vessel that has faithfully carried me through my life. But I need a little help. 

One of my favourite yoga teachers is my favourite because I have never once heard her say a negative thing about herself or her body. I’m sure she has the same insecurities as anyone else, but she exudes confidence in exactly who she is. She is gloriously weird and completely unapologetic for being so. She is beautiful, healthy, and so active - and also, she doesn’t have a six pack, and girl likes a good meal. She embodies so much of what I want to be. A person who is completely and absolutely okay with - and maybe even *gasp* in love with every part of who she is. 

Why are my rolls something I’m ashamed of - but on my nephew they’re adorable? Why can’t I too revel in my own adorable squish factor? I am so done with this. I refuse to let following generations of girls and women continue to confuse themselves with the misconception that fitness, a mindful diet, and an active and healthy lifestyle are all purely pursued in effort to maintain a particular measurement of their physical body. 

I think about my little cousin. She’s 12. I don’t want her poisoned with this virus. 

I mean, come on. You would never sit a young girl down for this conversation: 

Alright, so, here’s your Society Adaptation Kit. It’s got all your essentials: insecurity, self-deprecation, timid behaviour, false humour to cover up flaws, Oh! And here’s a waist-trainer, it’s just an updated term for corset, it should come in handy at some point…

We are more than this ladies. We are so much more. Beauty isn’t one shape or type. You know this. I know you do because I’ve heard you say this. The words come out of your mouth - so I know you want to believe them - but when your words are actions, do they follow this model? You can be someone who says you are body positive all the live long day - but what are you actually DOING with your words? Not when they’re about someone else. But with YOU. Your own damn body. What’s happening there? Actions speak louder than words. Do your actions align with your words? 

However thin, fat, muscular, broad shouldered, wide hipped, skinny armed, pudgy bellied, flat butted…. Please stop voicing these as something you are ashamed of, or lacking, or have too much of. You have so much more to offer than a juicy booty. (And also your butt is rad no matter the concavity/convexity.)

I don’t know when, but one day, I’m going to have kids. And there’s a 50% chance that I’m going to have a daughter. Which essentially means that I have between now and then to eliminate this BS language that tears down my body because I refuse to pass this along to anyone else. And I’m practicing now because I know it’s going to take me a while to break this 31 year long habit. 

I am making healthy choices for my body to love my body more. Not because I need to embody the visual representation that someone else has created to represent health; but because being authentically healthy is important to me. My body, mind, visceral heath and the quality of my life are important to me. 

Thin isn’t a talent, a gift, or a characteristic of the elite. It’s also not a crime. It’s simply one type of body. Similarly, fat isn’t ugly or shameful. It’s not lacking or incapable. It’s a natural part of the human body. 

I challenge you to join me in losing the self-deprecating body jokes, to change your sentence from “I need to lose weight.” to “I am really craving some activity in my life, and maybe a few more vegetables.” To notice when someone else’s appearance is triggering your own insecurities and to acknowledge that and be with it for a moment instead of voicing your opinions or criticisms on their body. 

I really believe that subtle but meaningful changes could be so largely impactful. We would all feel a little more accepted in our individual appearance and there would be much more mental space for us to focus on our internal self-development if we’re not so focused on the external.

My friend Christine calls them Mind-Viruses. This one is dated and I’m bored of it; and simple shifts in language and attitude could make all the difference. 

Stop the spread. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

Go L*ve Yourself.

Have you weighed in on the debate? The one that says you can’t love someone else unless you love yourself first. It’s a conversation that can get pretty heated on peoples’ different opinions on the matter. 

I am totally ‘that guy’ because I will be the first to say I understand what both sides of the fence are saying… not sure if I can fully commit to either side just yet. 

On the one hand, I think you can absolutely love someone else regardless about your feelings toward yourself. And on the other, I think the reason people will argue the contrasting point is because loving yourself offers you a much different loving experience with others that is arguably deeper and more connected. 

Here’s the thing though. The reason that this debate becomes so heated is because A) SO MANY people struggle with loving themselves and B) no one wants to feel that they are incapable of love. Therefore, this would leave a greater sum of the population believing that they aren’t showing up for the people in their lives that they obviously cherish greatly. And that sucks, right? 

In my regularly and weirdly keen observation of humans… I’ve noticed the love parents have for their children. This fascinates me so greatly because it’s such a unique experience and you can’t have it until you have it. So I do my best to collect whatever data I can through observation - and leave room in my imagination to fill in some of the gaps that I know are missing by my lack of personal experience. 

From what I can assess so far there are few, if any, forms of love that are as deep as a parent’s love for their children. What’s even more interesting is that the love is constant. It doesn’t matter how old the parent or the child become. The love is unchanged. Perhaps the expression of that love changes. But the volume of love itself is the same. 

I was talking to a friend a while ago, he was expressing that he had more concern for others’ well being than his own. I believe this to be a relatively common way of thinking. Likely most people would volunteer their own lives for someone they cared about. He proceeded to tell me that when he would go skiing alone, he would venture into very risky territory. Potentially life threatening trails. Not because he’s suicidal (or maybe he is - no judgement. Been there!) but for the experience and the rush. However, if he’s ever in the company of friends, he won’t even consider taking these types of trails.

It’s a slight paradox though, if you think about it. 

Because, if you were to claim that you were truly more concerned for others’ wellbeing… then wouldn’t you be even more intentionally cautious with your life and safety? Hear me out on this one. 

Depending on your belief system, if you die you either (this list is probably longer, but for the sake of time) land in heaven (which is way better than earth from what I’ve heard), you’re enlightened and omni-understanding, and/or you turn to dirt and have no awareness of your death or anything else. So essentially - it might be the only linking consensus of all belief systems - we conclude: if you’re dead, you’re probably pretty okay with it.

The only people suffering are the people you love. They’re going to be devastated to lose you. So if you truly are someone that claims to place others’ wellbeing before your own, wouldn’t this be something you’ve considered? That caring for yourself is exactly that, an expression of caring for others.

When we grow up, we turn 18 (or 25, 31, 53 whatever) and without much thought we venture into the amazing world of adulting. We move out of the familiar comfort of our family home and being to focus on our new responsibilities, paying bills, surviving, getting through that first job or those University papers. The actual responsibility of truly ‘taking care’ of ourselves is far from our minds… if it even crosses it at all. 

In that same transition, our parents had an entirely different experience. Those people that love us SO much, literally handed over to us the responsibility of ensuring the wellbeing of the thing that they love and cherish the most in the world. There is literally nothing that could replace you to them. So by that measure, you would be doing a service to them by taking care of yourself, right? 

If you have kids, don’t you want them to one day take care of themselves like you take care of them? To love themselves like you love them; understand their abilities, potential, and gifts like you do? You forgive them when they make a mistake, don’t you want them to forgive themselves? You do right? YOU are somebody’s kid. Someone loves you so much, they want that for you. 

  Even if you were someone that grew up with shit parents. Say they really dropped the ball on the whole loving, supporting and appreciation thing; or maybe they were abusive, critical or neglectful. If you see that, and you know that. Then you are acknowledging that you deserved more. Which means you deserve more now. You owe it to yourself to love you. You’re due. You are entitled to love. 

In my opinion, the only other form of love that has the potential to be as deep, connected and meaningful as parental love is self-love. I think it’s simply that most of us just haven’t found a way to tap into it. And if we did… can you imagine? 

All those little holes, flaws, and self-perceived deficits would soften. Fear would be replaced by trust. Trust that you have and that you are everything you need. Guilt, shame… nope. No room for that. You love yourself. You forgive yourself. Therefore, guilt and shame would become obsolete. This doesn’t mean ignoring your flaws; it’s not ignorance or arrogance. It’s not turning a blind eye to the parts of you that you’re working on. It’s simply acknowledging those qualities, forgiving them and having patience with yourself while you sort through it. 

Parental love isn’t blind either. Your parents know you’re a butthole sometimes. They know all of your character flaws. Probably better than you do. But isn’t it cool how they love you through that? They aren’t ignorant to your bullshit. They just keep loving you. Deeply and endlessly. For no justified reason except for that they just DO. 

I can’t remember when I came to realize it… but one day I did. I thought - my parents aren’t here to take care of me anymore. I’m all grown up. So now it’s my job to take care of me. I need to make sure I eat my vegetables and I go to sleep when I’m tired. I need to make sure I don’t watch too much TV and that I get my work done on time. I have to clean my room, do my laundry, and make sure I have a shower everyday so I don’t smell bad. 

I parent myself. I truly do. 

Sometimes I’m a super lax parent…

Me: “Can I have popcorn for supper?”

Parent me: “You know what, why the hell not. Fibre. Sure!” 

And other times I’m a bit more mindful parent. 

Me: “Can I have another cookie??” 

Parent me: “You’ve already had 2 (or 5). I think that’s enough. If you’re hungry you can have a cucumber - or I’ll make you lunch. No more cookies though.” 

[Yes. Most of my self-parenting skills are tested at meal times.]

But what about the times when you’re tired, you’re sad, you’re angry or broken… What do you do with yourself? Are you kind? Do you let yourself cry it out, give yourself a metaphorical hug and take it easy? Maybe you’re someone that has grown so accustomed to your own abuse, you don’t even recognize it as abuse anymore. Maybe you’ve become so used to not loving yourself, that simply the absence of abuse feels like love. You need to know there’s more. And that you have the capacity to create it. 

Sometimes it’s too hard or too much to move from abusive inner-statements to positive mantras and self-affirmations. It was for me. It felt so false and gross coming out of my mouth. 

“I am beautiful and radiant” would be followed by this cruel sarcastic mental dialogue in a mocking tone repeating I am beautiful and radiant followed by a mental eye roll and taunting laugh. (I still think affirmations are stupid but hey if that’s jam, you go rock that shit.) 

Start small. And in ways that feel real to you. 

I think sometimes when people talk about self-love they say it like it’s just going to happen. Like it’s something that just ‘IS’ … like ‘Go love yourself.’ is the same as ‘Go make a sandwich.’

Like it’s this thing you just do and then you have it. But it’s not like that at all. Maybe it started that way… when we were really little… but we forgot, and that’s okay. So now, we accept that it’s a process. 

Few lasting relationships had a first date that began with “I love you so much, I want to spend my life with you. You are my everything.” There’s a natural evolution of getting to know each other and slowing showing small forms of affection. Establishing trust, commitment and eventually love. 

Go date yourself. Get to know you. Build a friendship, show yourself small acts of kindness and let those grow in to more meaningful acts of love. 

I don’t conclusively know if you can or can’t love someone without loving yourself. But I feel confident in saying that even the intention - just the effort of trying to love yourself can make some huge, unparalleled shifts in your body, your relationships and your quality of life.  

So go on now, go fall in love with you. ‘Cause you’re awesome. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

MasterDebater.

I love to debate. I truly do.

My favourite debate partner is my dad. Because it’s always safe. Meaning, I know that we’re both going to walk away from the conversation with more expanded perspectives and a healthy readjustment to our mental reflexes - and not with sore spots, resentment and emotional wounds. 

I can be a pretty passionate debater. A lot of people are threatened by my enthusiasm and misinterpret it for defensiveness, an elevated emotional state, or anger. Which isn’t the case at all! I just figure, if you’re going to argue for what you believe, then you better put skin in the game.  

Another reason my dad is my favourite debate partner is because he’s always truly interested in my point of view. He asks stimulating questions with the intention of truly listening to my answer before processing it and making his retort. I feel I (really try to) reciprocate that.

The worst debates are ones in which the opposing party has no intention or interest in the other side of the debate and simply wishes to reiterate their own belief. The whole reason debates are fun is because you still can walk away with your initial belief - but through the debate, you’ve had a healthy dose of banter to expand even your own opinions on why you hold that belief. If you’re not willing to explore the other side, then I kind of think your faith in that belief must be sort of limited if you’re avoiding the exposure to some inquiry.

When I’m not debating with my dad, I have to cool my jets a little. Most people aren’t prepared to take a heartily enthusiastic (too enthusiastic) jump into contrasting opinions. And it’s a semi-bummer. But I get over it. Because some people just aren’t ready to be as excited as I am, and that’s okay.  

However, the one debate I have had a number of times with various ‘opponents’ - I feel needs to be addressed in full-on Tanya-Ryan-debate-mode.

I have had a handful of people try to tell me that vulnerability is synonymous with weakness; and I couldn’t disagree more. Naturally, in each particular circumstance I retorted in debate and it wasn’t very well received, which is totally cool! But I really feel the need to get into this.

The argument that I’ve heard is that exposing your self in such a way that makes you vulnerable, is to appear weak; and perhaps that’s the case if you’re solely considering this from the perspective that would indicate your extensive participation in war-strategizing themed video games. But if we’re looking at vulnerability from the whole day-to-day experience perspective. Vulnerability is an absolute indication of strength, integrity, honesty and humility.

If you were someone who decided consciously or unconsciously that you would never be vulnerable, it’s sort of a ticket down easy street. It means you will never have to put yourself on the line. You never have to face the unknown. You don’t have to develop a relationship with courage or bravery. Being invulnerable is easy. It’s impersonal and safe. It means never having to face rejection or criticism. You’d never ask someone on a date. Or say I love you. You wouldn’t do any form of public-speaking; or share any kind of personal information or art. You wouldn’t share your beliefs, opinions and personal expressions. You wouldn’t ever have to apologize or admit you’re wrong.

I mean, technically some of the listed examples would vary from person to person on how vulnerable each item was perceived by that unique individual. But essentially, I’m aiming to conclude that vulnerability is a form of facing fear. I’ll use my own examples.

I have never said I love you first (except ONE time). Because it was safer to wait for someone else to say it first. Then the ball was in my court. I could decide what’s what and I’d be safe not having to deal with the crippling rejection that comes from an empty “You’re okay too.” (That’s a slight inside joke for my dad, but it doesn’t impact the understanding of this story without knowing the joke. So we’re good.) The time I did say I Love You first hardly even counts because I knew my words would be reciprocated. The day prior to my confession of love, I had basically cornered him when he was drunk and skillfully and not-so-subtly beat around the bush to the point that I had enough evidence to conclude that my feelings would be returned. So I totally dodged vulnerability in this particular case. (BUT HE STILL MARRIED ME. WIN.)

I remember the first time I went to publicly perform a song that I had written based on very intimate and personal experience. I was mortified at the idea of singing this diary entry in front of people. WTF. I can’t do that! To get myself to do it, I pretended in my mind that it wasn’t about me. It was about someone else. It was like reciting fiction. No problem.

I am an expert vulnerability dodger.

I have hidden my opinions, experiences, beliefs - because I don’t want to face the potential criticism that might come with outing them. (Slowly coming out of the proverbial closet here, one blog at a time.) I have hidden tears, defeat, and struggle. I have avoided conversations, been passive aggressive and found my way around undesirable subject matter. And boy oh boy have I been effective in my ability to wiggle myself out of some conflicts I didn’t want to have.

And sure, I sing on stage. And that’s pretty vulnerable … but it has taken me years (and years) to practice NOT pretending my songs are about someone else. To own them as mine. My own story. That might actually have been one of my major movements forward in vulnerability - and it’s only been happening in the last 3 years. It’s probably unrealistic to think you can get through life without everhaving to be vulnerable. But I definitely think living with intentional vulnerability on a regular basis is a really powerful experience.

That’s the thing about being an expert vulnerability-dodger… you start to see how you’re really limiting your depth. The deepest human connections happen through vulnerability. Some of the most amazing performances, speeches, relationships, and acts of bravery came from an individuals ability to be entirely and unequivocally vulnerable. Anytime something or someone has truly moved you, I guarantee vulnerability was apart of the equation. That person let you into their story, their heart and their life for a period of time. That’s some seriously powerful shit.

You can try to convince me all the live long day that holding it together and toughing it out is braver - and I will simply not agree with you because I’ve BEEN the person that toughs it out. I’ve ‘held it together’. And all it is, is a form of hiding. It’s the ability to avoid appearing helpless or needing help. It’s entirely egocentric. It’s not even real. You are simply wanting people to believe this is who you are. But it’s not. You are hiding. And that is so not brave.

Hey man. I’m not criticizing you. I AM you. Takes an invulnerable to know one.  

I’m just saying I know that if I’m being truly brave - and any time I’ve been truly brave - I’ve exposed something. I have opened myself up in a new way.  Which is terrifying. And when you intentionally do something terrifying. You chose to pursue an action that honours your heart and your soul - knowing potential consequences of this action - and you do it anyway? That is BRAVE AF.

So if you want another word for vulnerability, I’m afraid that ‘weakness’ just won’t cut it.

It’s seriously brave.

@ me. I dare you.

[tanyaryanmusic]

Putting the ‘Us’ in Uterus.

Good afternoon. Welcome to my vagina, would you like to sit down? Please, make yourself comfortable.

It seems to be a hot topic these days. Everyone’s all about the uterus and vaginas and what’s going on all up in there. So I thought I would take this opportunity to give you a full behind-the-scenes look at what it’s like to have a vagina. 

Vaginas are a lot of work. Maybe you had to deal with the odd untimely boner - but try getting your period for the first time. Picture this: You think you’re sick. You leave school in the middle of history, and have no idea what’s happening until you get home, go to the bathroom and it looks like a Freddy Kruger movie. You quickly learn there are no pads in the house and you have no clue how to use a tampon. Also, to a 13 year old, those Always brand cardboard applicator tampons may as well have been the size of a zucchini. So you just sit in the bathtub and cry until your mom comes home. 

No… nothing? Just me then. Okay. 

My mom lovingly congratulated me into womanhood; I soon found out that this would be my new life, every 28 days. I was to simply get used to the whole wanting-to-pull-your-uterus-from-your-body-because-it-feels-like-it’s-a-miniature-version-of-Rocky-Balboa-is-trying-to-take-you-down-from-the-inside thing. 

It’s around this time you become hyper aware of how to avoid rape. It weird, because no one really out-and-out talks about it, so I didn’t actually know what rape was, I just knew how to avoid it. It was constantly reinforced by teachers and parents: be careful, don’t walk alone, and if a man is walking toward you, cross the street… it didn’t even seem weird. So normal to just start becoming aware and adapting to this new way of avoiding harm. It was learning to look both ways before you crossed the street. Just now instead of cars, we’re watching out for predatory men. That’s normal, right?  

Alright, well onward and upward. Let’s move on to consensual sex. That’s better right? Sex is always fun. 

NO. Losing your virginity sucks. Not in the aw, that sucked but it’s okay, it’ll be better next time way. It is straight-up AWFUL. And I was one of the few that wasn’t drunk, I had a loving boyfriend and a completely pressure-free experience. So basically, I had the best possible environment for a positive experience… and it still sucked. I was also under this naive impression that your first time hurt, but then it was all good and everything was fine after that. NOPE. It was a process. Sex hurt for like, a year or so? I think. God… why did I keep doing it? That’s dedication people. 

Okay so time passes and let’s say that eventually sex becomes fun. You might have to wait for your mid-twenties before a guy actually figures out how to help you have an orgasm, but eventually it happens. So you go around and you have all the sexy times (safely, because you care about your body and you’re a woman of the 21st century so you carry your own damn condoms) - and then what happens? UTI. BLAMMO! Yeast Infection. BAM! You have all the fun sex and then you get an infection. Your sexual liberation is rewarded with an INFECTION. YAY! I once had a bladder infection so bad I couldn’t stand up. I crawled to the bathroom. After it was treated I had to get up at least 3 times a night to pee and it took over a year to get to a point that I could sleep the whole night without having to go to the bathroom. Good times, good times. 

Okay. Millennials. I love you my bothers and sisters. But why. WHY did we make the Brazilian Wax a thing? Holy Mother of Christ. Occasionally, I have taken these small precious moments after having received a Brazilian in which I gently pat my newly naked mole-rat looking genitals and apologize that I wasn’t born in an era that appreciates a solid bush. #bringbackthecarpet

I can only speak from my own experience which at this point includes none of the vaginal trauma associated with birth. So we’ll all take this moment to shout-out the women that have sacrificed themselves, their vaginas and the reliability of their bladders to ensure that our species lives on. Whenever someone tells me their birthing story I will (after regaining my composure - I’m quite squeamish) mentally salute them with the same intensity and respect as one of those dudes from Saving Private Ryan. ‘Cause as far as I’m concerned, that is some next level shit.

I wonder if the dudes that are taking women’s rights away have acknowledged that they originated from a vagina. I wish I could graphically remind them. Maybe that’s why they’re so adamant about it all. Because they know, deep down, that if their mother knew how much of an dickhead they’d become, she would’ve aborted them. So it’s in their best interests to keep their population alive! Long live ignorant dickheads! Maybe if everyone took a moment to appreciate where they came from we’d have less ignorant dickheads and more enlightened vaginaheads. Or something. I hope that it’s understood by the majority of the population that no one who is Pro-Choice is running around saying ‘Abortion is awesome!’ or ‘Abortion is the preferred method of dealing with anything!’ All anyone wants is their own right to make the decision themselves. Duh. Has anyone tried the opposites game? What if a political party was attempting to legally enforce abortion in certain circumstances? There would be uproar there too. It’s the choice that’s being fought for. Not the procedure itself.

What else have I gotten to experience with a vagina… oh! This is fun. With my glorious vagina I have had the experience of awkwardly laughing myself out of mildly threatening situations. I’ve avoided dark allies, learned self-defence techniques (thank you dad), I have had sex not because I wanted to, but to avoid hostility; and I have felt that my safety was truly jeopardized when I didn’t return a certain man’s advances. 

Being a woman is a f**king trip people. 

I always agreed with it. Women are the weaker sex. I thought: My mum can’t lift as much weight as my dad, and therefore she is weaker. But man, age gives you some serious perspective. I have observed women, I have listened to women… and I can tell you for certain. They are strong AF. 

You know what takes strength? Going to work the day after a rape. A woman has done that. 

Strength is protecting your kids by taking the abuse of your husband on yourself. It’s fighting to be heard and seen, or to be quiet until someone finally listens to you. Strength is telling your side of the story even when no one will believe you or take you seriously. Strength is living through the trauma of rape only to find out you are now pregnant and now have to have an invasive and risk-ridden medical procedure to avoid a lifelong reminder of an instance you are trying to move past. Strength is making the decision to sacrifice a human you created in your own body for the greater betterment of it’s life and your own. 

If strength were just muscle - oh what a simple world it would be. But it’s so much more than that. 

I could list for days the strengths that women have embodied, but I don’t have to, because you know women are strong. You’ve seen it. And if you haven’t seen a woman be strong, then your eyes are not open. 

So what’s it like to have a vagina? It’s pretty messed up. It’s scary. And it’s pretty f**king powerful. 

So if you haven’t picked up on it already, after much practice and years of experience, we’ve got this covered. Thank you so much for your weighing concern, but we truly do know what’s best for our own genitalia. 

So please, unless you are invited, stay out of my vagina. 

Thank you. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

To All the Buttholes I’ve Loved Before.

I’m so glad I had the opportunity to date so many buttholes. 

Buttholes are such an important part of the self-development process. They highlight all the areas in that we lack. If you have trouble drawing boundaries - no problem! A butthole will come a take advantage of you until you figure it out. 

You struggle with being a constant people-pleaser? You will eventually come across the forever un-pleaseable butthole. 

Doesn’t matter what the goal of your personal journey into self discovery; overcoming your issues with confrontation, temper, drama, perfectionism, your value and/or self worth. There’s a butthole for that. 

Of course I didn’t always see it this way. I went through a stretch of disliking, and in some cases, loathing these people for a period of time. I would relive and replay all the ways they had wronged me, hurt me or taken advantage of me. Then that got kind of boring so I decided to reflect on their impact. I was able to take away valuable and insightful lessons that helped me to understand myself and the world a little bit better. And even if in most cases I learned maybe a little too late, I still learned. 

I’m not sure who coined the term serial monogamist, but I think that would describe my dating habits as well as any. I have dated enough to fully emerge myself in the experiences of various nuances of men on the butthole spectrum: 

There was the one that was so sweet and sensitive but turned out that his ‘sensitivity’ was actually a stealthy form of manipulation, and for bonus points, he was also a low-key misogynist racist. NBD. Then there was the passive aggressive who wanted time, love and attention but could not request this directly so he used the silent treatment to get his way and to avoid conversations he didn’t want to have. Then the ‘I-can’t-live-without-you, you’re-my-whole-world’ one that slowly got me to do everything for him because he needed me and I was ‘always so much better at it’ than he was. That was actually super clever. Well done. 

And then there was that one guy that when we broke up he called my home phone number 28 times in the middle of the night. And my cell phone 16 times. (No exaggeration here people. I’ve never seen anything like it.) And he left voicemails and texts that rom-coms base their desperate post-breakup characters off of - calling the first time just sad… the second one was more desperate. Then it was fiercely angry with horrendous name-calling. Then apologetic. Then sad again. And so on. I am absolutely one to indulge in the occasional hyperbole, but this was legit what happened. I suspect there are some deeper issues there. 

Anyway. If you get the chance to reflect on these experiences in an objective manner, you get to pull out all the skillsets that they left you with. In many of my own experiences it came down to me learning to honour my value, draw boundaries, and have more self-respect. 

If you get really keen on being objective, reflective and learning; you can also take away how you, yourself were a butthole. I am fully aware of the level 10 butthole I have been in certain circumstances (none of which will be listed today, because I know you think I’m perfect and I would hate to disillusion you). I also see the miscommunications that happened, and how things sort of got muttled, and therefore people got hurt unnecessarily. But hey, we’re all a little tougher now with a better sense of humour. Right? Or perhaps, the less desirable outcome, in which we’re all a little more jaded with a bitter sense of humour. Either way.

Each of the experiences with these buttholes (and my being the occasional butthole) really helped me to identify the man I chose to marry. They created this metaphorical checklist that I was able to go through. 

Oh, you do that thing where you twist everything up and have no responsibility for anything? … nah. No thanks. 

Ah yes, I am familiar with this technique. This is the avoid-it-until-she-gives-up technique. Nope. Next!

Hm, I am noticing how defensive and mean I get around you. I don’t like this version of me. Peace mofo, I’m out.   

As awful as it sounds, there was a period of time when I was dating the man that became my husband that I was practically waiting for him to do something ignorant. But he just never really did… Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he’s perfect. It’s more that he’s accountable. He has his moments, and he’s the first to tell me he’s sorry, or that it’s not my fault or that he just needs a bit of time to figure something out. If he’s been a bit insensitive or I have felt hurt, I tell him. He listens to me and he always apologizes. (And he doesn’t say dumb stuff like: “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Or “Calm down it was only two fries!”)

My husband respects the shit out of me. It kills me that his mother has passed away because I always want to thank her for whatever she did to make him the man he is today (I do regularly thank his dad), and I want to take notes so I can one day raise a human to be so considerate and kind. 

He cherishes me. He makes me feel important to him. I feel valued, trusted and loved. 

I once told him about my insanely unreasonable fear of getting locked out of the house. That day (THAT DAY) he went to Home Depot and changed the deadbolt out for a mechanical deadbolt so I didn’t have to worry about losing my key. I didn’t ask him to do that, he just did. ‘Cause he’s awesome. 

He always cleans the kitchen if I cook. And often will help me clean the kitchen if he’s cooked. He does the laundry, he plans dates, and buys my favourite snacks when I’m PMS-y.  He also buys me flowers every time he comes home from a long stint at work. 

But most importantly, I can be all the weirdest versions of myself. He supports me with my experimenting, pushing boundaries and trying new  things. I am allowed to feel all my feelings, and I feel truly safe knowing that he’s not threatened by my experiencing emotions. My favourite part of our relationship is that neither of us holds the other one to blame when we are sad, upset or hurt. Even if it was their doing… we don’t say “You hurt me” … it’s “I’m hurt.” 

I know that we’ve only been together for a short time but this isn’t the first time I’ve been in a relationship for 2 years, and this one is different. At this point in previous relationships I am usually acutely aware of things that are making me feel stifled and uncomfortable, and simultaneously naively optimistic that all that garbage will get sorted out - and then it doesn’t, and maybe it lasts a few months more until it inevitably comes to a strained end. I’m just really grateful to be this far in and there’s no garbage. There’s effort, communication, and the occasional disagreement. But it’s pretty mellow. And I love that.

There’s a Buddhist quote that discusses finding your person, I’m going to paraphrase it because I can’t remember it and Google was NO help. It says something along the lines of: when you meet your life-partner it won’t be all sweaty palms, heart pounding and fireworks, instead, it will be this noticeable sense of calm. AKA it won’t be this dramatic hot/cold soap opera. I think we base our expectations of love on movies, TV and storybooks - which is a distorted adaptation of reality. It’s not to say you won’t get butterflies or nervous - sometimes I still do with Brin! But mostly he makes me feel ease. And it was like that from day one. Easy.

There are many people with a long dating history of failed relationships that will tell you there aren’t many good ones left. They’re the first to tell me that I really lucked out with how awesome Brinley is. Don’t worry all, I am well aware that my husband is straight-up the tits. But I want to get across something I feel is very important. I truly feel that I was able to identify my husband as someone to spend my life with because I reflected and learned from my past relationships. I was willing to look myself in the face and acknowledge where I needed to adjust and shift for my own personal growth; and I was able to very distinctly know what I wanted in the human being that would become my life-partner. I became so clear on this that I had decided I would rather be alone and happy by myself, than to settle for a relationship that only filled me up part way. 

Before I met Brinley I made a list. A list of qualities and traits that were all inspired by the previous relationships that I had experienced. It was a pretty detailed list. When I completed my list, I read through it, and my first thought was: “Wow. If this person exists. He’s a pretty remarkable person.” It made me reflect. If I find this incredible person, then I ought to be the most incredible version of myself that I can be. I ought to be willing to return these same qualities. It’s not terribly fair to ask someone for this level of investment if you’re not willing to come to the table with similar value. So I started doing my best to develop in my own areas, asking myself harder questions: Are you ready for your person? Truly. The person that you know you want. The one that is going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Are you taking care of yourself? Are you comfortable being all of yourself? Are you responsible with your money? Are you brave enough to own your feelings and your mistakes? Are you able to stand up for yourself?  All of this inquiry gave me the motivation to invest in myself. To hold myself accountable to rise and expand on who I am. To acknowledge my value and observe my deficits with kindness and patience. 

So thank you, Buttholes. You were the reasons I was able to make that list. The reasons I knew exactly what I appreciated in a long-term relationship and the reasons I knew exactly what I didn’t need. You helped motivate me to step back and evaluate myself and acknowledge my various strengths and the I’m-working-on-them parts. You helped me to understand and appreciate what a truly incredible person Brinley is. Without the contrasting experiences of your Butthole-ism I may never have been able to fully appreciate the gift that my husband is. 

Thanks Buttholes. I only hope I was able to do the same for you. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

I’m Cool With Jesus.

I have a pretty solid belief system. It doesn’t really follow any particular organized religion. In fact, it sort of just fell into my brain one day, and I never really told anyone about it, I just silently joked to myself that it’s called Tanyaism. One day I’ll elaborate on the whole idea of it all, but today, let’s talk about Jesus. 

I grew up Catholic. I was Baptized; had First Communion and went through Confirmation. The whole Catholic Caboodle. My Grandma Shirley was so proud.

I never loved Church, but I didn’t hate it either. It was just kinda boring, and we were never allowed to eat beforehand so I was always hungry. And sermons made no sense. Kinda just felt like this dude was enjoying hearing himself talk. The mono-tone music wasn’t super enjoyable, but at least I got to sing, right? Sunday school was cool, but I got too old to go. Anyways, it wasn’t my favourite Sunday experience, but we always went with Grandma and Grampa, and we always got donuts and hot chocolate (and sometimes waffles) afterwards. So it was alright. 

Anyways, shortly after I was Confirmed I began to think about the Bible and all these stories and scriptures - and basically there were a bunch of things that just didn’t make sense to me, I couldn’t wrap my head around it. So I started asking questions. My Grandma was a proud Catholic and I considered her to be my in-house Bible-expert, so I asked her. 

“Did Adam and Eve really populate the entire earth? If so, how did different ethnicities come to be?” 

“Did Jesus really walk on water? Or was it sort of a figure of speech?” 

“How can God be everywhere at once?” 

“Okay so God is all powerful right? How does this Devil guy even compete then? Can’t God just squash him with his little finger?” 

My grandma didn’t really receive these questions too well; AKA had a pretty epic freakout on me for even considering this heresy. And I mean, I get it (now - it was a bit confusing at the time). For her, her faith saved her. My Grandma had a fair share of struggle in her life, so for her, finding God and Jesus really helped put her life in a healthier direction. She was the most faithful person I knew, so that’s why I wanted to ask; but all I really learned at the time is that you don’t question Grandma’s God. 

It’s okay though, I’m a practical kid, and in the case of God I just figured if no one would answer my questions, then I would come to my own answers. And since I couldn’t think of any logical answers to my questions, I decided that there was no God at all. I was 13 and a self-proclaimed Atheist. (I did not tell Grandma). 

I stayed really committed to that belief for a very long time, almost a decade I think; basically until a friend of mine was willing to field a few of my (very cynical-atheist originated) questions. He was of Christian faith and very patient with me (I think I was kind of a dick) - but he said something to me that made my brain twitch. 

I asked him (probably with great disdain while rolling my eyes) “How is it possible that God is listening to my prayers over here, and then someone else in Australia, and someone else in another part of the world. Sounds a little too much like Santa Clause to me.” 

My friend casually explained that his belief is that there are more dimensions than solely this physical plane that we are aware of. And God isn’t human, so he’s not limited to the same linear forms of travel and communication that we are. 

And that was enough to crack the door for me to go from a firm “No. God does not exist.” To “Maybe I will think about it.” - and poof. I became Agnostic. I still wasn’t sold on the whole God thing, but I now felt that I had to leave room for error. Which I did for quite some time - until that shifted to my own weird conclusions (ref: Tanyaism). 

I have many, many friends that grew up with a similar story to me. They grew up in the Church. Their questions weren’t welcome. They themselves felt unwelcome because of the rigidity and judgement of their institution. The way we experienced it was: This place is boxing me in with a bunch of rules, and they won’t even tell me why! So we dropped our religion and went on with life. 

The trouble is, a lot of people still carry those wounds. The ones where they felt ignored, or judged or restricted. They never made peace. So they still walk around to this day, complaining about the horrendous system that is the Christian Church. 

And that’s a damn shame. 

I mean. On one hand, I get it! I’ve been there. Felt burned and rebuffed. There were (and still are) a number of things that just don’t make any sense. 

But what I’ve noticed since then… I have a lot of friends that attend church. And they are some of the best people I know. And yet, some people avoid Church-going friends because they’re worried that they’re going to … I don’t know actually… what are they worried they’re going to do? Throw holy water and burn them? Lecture them on their sins? Projectile a wooden cross at their forehead while running away shouting “THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!”? 

For whatever reason it might be, I know a lot of spiritual people that avoid church-goers. (And vice-versa - but I’ll also save that conversation for another day). They judge people for going to church. Which is HILARIOUS because that’s why they left the church in the first place. Judgement, exclusion etc etc. And now here we are on our spiritual high horse doing what was done to us. Kind of hypocritical. 

The reason we have all these different religions BECAUSE one size doesn’t fit all. You’re allowed to have your faith, and love to worship the shit out of that faith every Sunday - or whatever day of the week you prefer. Or believe that you die and turn into dirt, your consciousness fizzling into thin air. 

We have almost 7000 languages on this planet, a full spectrum of different colors, millions of food options… We GET to be different. We get to choose what feels right for our own heart. You are allowed to believe in exactly whatever way you want to. Wear whatever color you want to, speak whatever language you want to. So I don’t understand the harm in letting someone else believe (or not) in whatever way they want to without getting all emotional and opinionated about it. 

I don’t identify as a Catholic anymore. Or Christian, or Evangelican, or [insert other Christian/Religious systems here]

But I’m cool with Jesus. I’m cool that his story inspires people to live their life in a better way. I am glad that people have somewhere to turn when their life gets hard. 

Just because you had an experience where the church hurt your feelings - or even if it’s that you feel the church has abused it’s position in history (or currently)… could you avoid making that the fault of Joe-Buddy down the road and his wife. They’re not going to church to try to take over the world, they’re going because they are worried about paying the mortgage this month and they’re turning to Jesus to find comfort in sharing their worries and fears. This is harmless people. And arguably a healthier coping mechanism than some of the alternatives.

And if Joe-Buddy actually is a judgemental, self-righteous, holier-than-thou asshole. Make sure you hold him, himself responsible - because even though he might try to manipulate a bible verse to justify his poor actions. That’s not the church’s fault. That shit is HIS. 

Jesus is cool guys. He did some seriously cool shit. He gave some dude his shoes, cause he felt he needed them more, he smushed mud on another guy’s face to get him to see  (I mean, the scientific data support on this is low, but it’s the thought that counts!) - he said a lot of smart stuff and gave people hope. And he still does. Like, come on. He sounds alright. He may have occasionally been a bit full of himself - but so were the Beatles. Fame can get to anyone. We can all still take something away from his life and story. 

You might not believe me, but you can even go to church… like, this week, and just sit there and listen - and you won't leave brainwashed with an I Heart Jesus T-Shirt singing This Little Light of Mine. You can just listen. And you might get something out of it. 

Maybe not. But maybe. 

I am smart enough to know that this is way over-simplified and there are so many political implications to peoples’ issue with church and organized religion. But take it easy on me, I only had time to write a blog. Not a book. So this is what you get. Think of it as Grade 2 Religious Studies: Let’s all be nice to one another and get along. 

I’m just saying; if you get all judgy and avoid people because of their belief… you’re missing out on meeting a buttload of cool people. Just like you’re a cool person, and I’d be bummed if someone chose not to be friends with you because of what you choose to believe. 

Now, please excuse me while I dust off my rose coloured glasses and mix some Kool-aide. I have a Tanyaism service to attend. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

For the Creators.

Would you still create if no one was there to acknowledge it? What is it that moves you to make your art? To sing your songs, put your words on paper, your hands on your craft. Isn’t it meant to be a short period of time that we are temporarily not entirely human? This brief experience of becoming a vessel for this unknown force that is creativity. It moves us and bends us in an unrehearsed but beautifully executed dance. It’s the magical push and pull of how that flows through you - and onto your page. I have, more than I’d like to admit, forgotten that that’s why I do it. I have confused myself into thinking that I create for those who will hear me, see me, understand me. For those who will validate me, support me, affirm me. I expect my craft to work for me and ensure that the product of my efforts will result in feedback that fills the voids in my heart. I have obligated my creativity to sooth my insecurities. I have unintentionally - and unequivocally blocked that beautiful flow of creativity by focusing on my work as a product instead of a process. As a machine, instead of a living, moving, intelligent force. I have denied the inherent nature of my creativity by trying to control it and manipulate it to conform to standards set by myself, or what I perceive to be accepted by society and industry. I have assumed this creativity was not a gift but a right. And I’ve abused it. Sometimes it leaves. For a time I become unable to express and create in a way that I’m accustomed. And in those times I slowly recognize what I did to contribute to its departure. I am so lucky that it comes back to me. It has every reason to leave me, for good. So many times my creativity has been victim to my mistreatment; and considering what I have done, repetitiously, I don’t deserve it. But it forgives me. Every time. It leaves long enough for me to have time to remind myself to listen, to feel, to embody, to express, and then it comes back joyfully, ready for us to dance together again. To make magical sounds - to thread words together like some sort of audible loom. I am thankful to have the patience, compassion and forgiveness of my creative force. I am more aware now to make it an intentional act to honour its nature and simply envelope myself in the experience. Reminding myself: I create because I am a creator. Because it’s a way for me to understand the world; to digest my experiences. To funnel grief, confusion, joy, love, sadness, anger, hope… Regardless of who hears me, sees me, understands me, validates me… I create because I am a creator.

[tanyaryanmusic]

The “S” Word.

I have been struggling with my emotional body over the past while. 

I have been suffocating myself in certain expectations of my life and myself that have gone unfulfilled. It’s a tricky thing sometimes, because I’m lucky enough to have a lot of perspective - enough to know when my mind is pulling me into unhealthy thought patterns. When it’s simply dragging me into the darkness because my misery loves my company. So I can usually stay afloat by grasping onto my knowing and riding it out. But, even though the knowing keeps me safe; it doesn’t stop the feelings. I still feel all the yucky feelings, it’s just that it usually doesn’t get to overpower me to a degree in which my life is on the line. 

I wish people were more candid and open about suicide. I think that suicidal thoughts are a lot more common than most people make it out to be. Unfortunately, if someone uses the “S” word, it’s like an alert is sounded. All proper physicians, psychologists and therapists are summoned; drugs are doled out and everything is chaos for a small period of time. Everyone looks at you like you’re fragile; with that horrible pity-face we all love so much. 

And I completely understand this reaction. Because OF COURSE this needs to be taken seriously. The stake of a valuable human life is at risk. If someone is struggling then there do need to be actions taken. 

So maybe what I’m looking for is another word for suicide? 

I have been suicidal. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. (Mum and dad: Breathe. Everything is going to be okay.) 

I don’t talk about it because I really don’t want to sound the alarm … and also, I have always known that even though I WANT to kill myself, I also know I won’t. 

So what do we call that? The part where you feel the urge to not exist in this life anymore… but you won’t actually leave the planet without just cause (old age, illness, accident etc). 

I won’t commit suicide for a number of reasons. Most of which fall around my spiritual beliefs. Not that suicide is a sin or ‘bad’ … actually, let’s start with the super weird and kind of funny belief first.

There’s a part of me that thinks that if I commit suicide, Life (Universe/God/Willy Wonka/Whoever) will intervene: “Hey Tanya, you still have work to do on earth, you forgot to learn a few things. No problem! We’ll just send you back!” 

And then it ends up being like the movie Ground Hog’s Day. I wind up with the same challenges, same hurdles - and I’ll just end up having to do all this bull all over again. So, I kind of see it like: since I’ve knocked 30 years out of the way already, I may as well keep pounding away. No sense in losing progress. Even if it doesn’t often feel like progress. (*Please also reference ‘The Russian Doll’ on Netflix. Same idea. Also, super weird and cool show.) 

I have other beliefs as well, that help sooth me in some of my darker hours. I have the belief that I, the soul of who I am, took part in planning the outline of my human experience before I came to exist on this earth. And if that’s the case, then I have, on some deeper level, already agreed to much of the discomfort that I go through. And that’s empowering to lean on. I chose this life. I chose to experience certain emotions, struggles and people;  this way of thinking gives me a sense of ownership of my life. It helps me to sigh, breathe in, and continue forward. Because if I chose this - then I can have more faith in trusting that I have everything I need to overcome it. I’m strong enough. I would not have made myself something I cannot triumph over. 

I get that this line of thinking won’t work for everyone. And it doesn’t have to. It works for me. It’s kept me safe when few other things may have. 

If it ever came down to it, and someone were attempting to talk me off a literal ledge… and they started with “You have so much to live for!” … I’d be gone before they finished the sentence. I can’t live my life for what or who is around me. It would be an empty existence. I love my husband, my family, my friends - but I have to want to live my life for me. I have to feel like I have meaning, and that my experiences are something that are enriching me, and in turn I am adding value to this planet by existing. But simply living because someone else wants to you to? Doesn’t work.  

When I hear of someone that commits suicide, I am so deeply sad; because I know they didn’t make that decision lightly. No one commits suicide on a whim. There have been years of inner-conversations that eventually lead to this person believing they are truly not worthy of their own existence. They eventually became unable to keep battling with the horrible darkness in their mind. 

I don’t pity them though. I refuse to disrespect their soul with pity. I instead have a sense of saddened respect. It reminds me of how I felt walking through Auschwitz. I do not pity them. I respect their ability to persevere through the most cruel conditions; I am deeply saddened for the tortures they experienced, I am moved, and I choose to acknowledge their fight, knowing they did everything they could to survive. And they simply didn’t. 

Being human is hard. Feeling feelings is hard. Expressing is hard. Feeling grief, trauma, torture, abuse, depression, stress, anxiety… is hard. So if you chose to be here, stay on this earth and persevere through the dark, often times the light isn’t far behind (Ryan Langlois, I’m stealing your shit); but sometimes, you have to believe the light is there, before it reveals itself. And that can be the hard part. 

If you choose to comment on this post, please (PLEASE) do not comfort me; or tell me how valuable my life is. I don’t mean to sound insensitive or ungrateful, it’s simply that, that would indicate you missed the point of my post. I’m not looking to be consoled, or supported. I’m actually hoping to create the tiniest bit of normalcy around suicidal thoughts. I would love for this piece to create the opportunity for an open and safe discussion on the topic. 

So, if you feel inclined, share a similar experience. Tell me what you do to overcome your thoughts of suicide. Or tell me about the black hole in your mind. Tell me about your Ground Hog’s Day hypothesis. Or whatever you feel you can share. Thank you in advance for your bravery, and thank you for continuing to look for and find the value in your own life. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

The Time I Made a Baby.

My Brother turns 26 in 10 days. And since I’m cheap, I decided to write him his birthday present. That’s mostly about me. Happy Birthday Hayden. You’re welcome. 

When I was four (and a half) I BEGGED my mom for a sibling. PLEASE mom. Can I please have a little brother or sister? 

I wanted the responsibility of setting an example. Plus someone to hang out with; adults are boring. 

My mom uncomfortably and effectively dodged this conversation with grace. She was a responsible parent, so she didn’t ever break it down to me that it takes two people to make a baby, and my dad and her were divorced, and that logistically this would be a bit awkward etc. 

She likely said something along the lines of “I’ll think about it.” - which probably worked because I was really naive as a kid, and I thought people actually meant it. (Same with “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” - I thought they actually WOULD tell me. When I was 13 I was really put out to find that they didn’t even remember! The nerve.)

Anyways. To help mom think about it, I decided to level-up my efforts and approach upper-management. I prayed to God every night. I kneeled in front of my home-made dollhouse and said: “Please God, can I please have a little brother or sister? I’d really like someone to play with. I promise to be the best big sister ever. Thank you.” 

Maybe occasionally I’d throw in that I’d really also love a new Polly Pocket, or an extra plate of dessert. But I pretty much focused in on that little sibling. 

It took a while, but the day came. My mom told me that I was going to have a little brother or sister. 

HOLY MOLEY. I made a freaking baby. I MADE A FREAKING BABY!  

I was STOKED. No big deal or anything, just a five-year-old making babies like it’s a piece-a-cake. I was extremely impressed with myself. 

(*For those of you keeners wondering where this little baby *actually* came from, like, from a non-five-year-old perspective… This part is a little embarrassing for my parents (sorry guys) and funny to me. My parents happened to share ONE lonely night, TOGETHER, and HAPPENED to get pregnant. My biological dad. And biological mom. And probably God or some shit. They happened to conceive my 100% biological bother in a one-night-stand. Stay classy you crazy kids!) 

Before he arrived, I felt responsible for him. I mean, come on. I MADE him. I mean, God helped and stuff, but still. This was big! I could teach him things, and we could play together at the park. We would be best friends too, of course. 

So when the time came that my mom went into labour, she came and woke me upon the middle of the night, told me that she was going to the hospital. 

I remember, I went to get out of bed and grab my coat. Alright, it’s time to have my baby. 

Mom stopped me. “No honey, you’re going to stay here with Grampa and Gramma. You can come visit tomorrow.”

What? 

I was so hurt; so disappointed. 

But that’s my baby. 

I couldn’t understand not being included in this very important part of… whatever happens when someone has a baby. (I had a pregnant Barbie. Her tummy kind of flipped inside-out to have her babies. I figured the logistics of this in real life would be relatively easy for me to comprehend.) How could I not be there?? 

I was a pretty obedient kid, so even though I was hurt, I didn’t really put up a fuss. I went back to bed. 

When I finally got to see him the next day, I thought I got to name him. I mean, if I haven’t made it clear already, this was my damn baby. I don’t remember what I wanted to call him. Maybe Sparky or Ned. I have no idea. I soon learned I didn’t get to name him either. Bunk. 

Oh well. He was my baby. And here he was in my arms. Hayden Anthony Lee. 

He was kind of weird looking and squished up. He had this sticky chunk of black hair, and his eyes were like little fleshy slits. But I didn’t mind. I loved him so much. I was so happy. 

I can’t remember how long the novelty lasted. But it was pretty short lived. People would come to visit us, and bring presents. Presents! I LOVE presents! (I was still holding out for that Polly Pocket - thank you God for the little brother and all, but I’m still waiting on a few more things… just a reminder!) But I found out that the presents weren’t for me. Not one of them. HE got them all. And mom might’ve got a couple. 

These people would gush over HIM. And how cute HE was. And if they talked to me, they asked me what I thought of HIM. I was getting so annoyed. No one cared about me anymore. Was I even cute anymore? People used to tell me I was, but not anymore. No one mentioned how much I’d grown, or how big I was getting. They just talked about HIM all the time. Ugh. 

Well. It got worse before it got better. I had assumed that I would be able to train my little sibling to be a kind, respectful human, that would do the things I asked. I wound up with this little creature that would run butt-naked into my room and touch all my stuff! EW. 

AND he wore diapers. So gross. I didn’t know they would wear diapers when they could walk. Learn to use a toilet, jeez. 

He didn’t listen to me. And he couldn’t even talk properly. I had to tell everyone what he was saying so they would know. How would he ever get through this life without me? 

I couldn’t figure him out. He had no sense of responsibility. Even as he got older. He was loud, and wild. He wore the WEIRDEST things. He didn’t care what anyone thought. He would ‘fish’ off the edge of a boat that was parked in a driveway. He wore his underwear on the outside of his clothes. He would get naked anytime he saw water in any form (rain barrel, horse trough, puddle, you name it). He didn’t become my best friend at all; in fact he tattled on me all the time! What a rip off. And much to my prolonging dismay, he became cuter… and I got my two front adult teeth.

(Hi. Side-note. Let’s all take a moment to consider my giant-ass adult teeth on the small face of a 7 year old. Poor, poor Tanya. I’m so sorry for your face.) 

There was never a time I came to understand him. There are times even now, I can struggle to relate to my brother, though as years have passed (and we stopped sharing a bathroom) I appreciate him so much more.

My brother has rare qualities that I haven’t come across in many people. He can make anyone feel absolutely comfortable with exactly who they are. He’s easy-going, open-minded. He is a compassionate listener and he will help you whenever you ask him. I have never seen him express judgement on a person (except maybe the occasional politician); he’s delightfully nerdy (he has a Star Wars tattoo, and plays D&D on the reg.) and he can rattle off the most random, useless facts you’ll never need. He makes the MOST accurate voice impressions (The Family Guy ones are my personal fav), and he’s a tremendously talented actor. And if you need to feel supported in something that you do not feel confident in, my brother should be your first call. 

Hayden is the only person - to this day - that I feel comfortable failing in front of. I will sing things that aren’t ready in front of him, I will try new techniques, I’ll bounce new ideas and thoughts; and he’s this perfect, non-judgemental sounding board (my husband a very close second). When I was younger, there was a period of years I didn’t sing in front of ANYONE. I would sing in front of Hayden.

I’m grateful to have this butt-munch in my life. Even when I thought he was an irresponsible, attention-seeking, diaper-butted, thumb-sucking cling-on. He was still okay. And he still is. 

Sometimes I still give God a little shout-out for the fact that my parents had irresponsible, unprotected sex. Well done all. Well done. 

Happy Birthday Sparky or Ned, or whatever your name is. Love you. And I’m so glad I MADE YOU. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

The Things I Have Learned From My Husband

I’m sure that every newlywed has mountains of great things to say about their spouse. So I apologize if this title makes you roll your eyes, and you now have the sudden urge to pop a heart-shaped balloon. I promise, I don’t carry the illusion that my husband and I will not have our abundant variety of differences; but at this point in our marriage, I am so appreciative of the things that I learn from him. Actually, if it tempers your cynicism to know this, a disagreement with him is exactly what inspired my writing this in the first place. 

I recently had an argument with my husband. It was about as heated an argument as we’ve ever had. We expressed very polarized opinions on a political matter. We shared our opinions, our views, our experiences, beliefs… and we never ever reached a conclusion that we agreed upon. No one changed their mind, or came to feel enlightened or changed by the exchange of information. 

[Just for the record. I was right. Obviously.] 

And what happened when we concluded this inconclusive argument… we got out of the truck, unloaded our groceries, kissed, and made dinner. We had no sore spots or resentments. No one was hurt that the other didn’t change their mind. It was just this beautiful disagreement; we chose to accept each other’s mindset, and continue forward. 

It made me think about what would happen if everyone in the world could do this. If we could all simply accept that another person will not share our opinions. That one line of thinking doesn’t work for all, regardless of your opinion, research, data, beliefs or otherwise. 

I know, I know, you’re thinking “But Tanya, data and research DO matter. These are unequivocal FACTS.” - and to that I say: Have you ever tried to change someone’s mind about something? Anything? It doesn’t matter how much fact or validity you bring to your argument, you can’t change someone’s mind. Educate them, and move on. The only person that can change their mind is themselves. [Insert politically sensitive vaccine debate here.]

I said it earlier to be funny… but I truly believe that I am unequivocally correct regarding my position in my husband and I’s argument. I think that my belief about that matter is more objective, and expresses a better reflection of reality. But you know what? IT DOESN’T CHANGE HIS MIND. 

Why are we constantly trying to change peoples’ minds and beliefs? What would happen if we simply trusted that someone will find their way to information and enlightenment in their own time, in their own way. Or heaven forbid our own mind is changed somewhere along the way. 

Having your belief system (or lack-thereof) shook is terrifying. Especially if any part of your identity is wrapped into that belief system. I think we experience a certain amount of shame - or perhaps simply sheepishness when our minds change. So, in effort to save our pride, we hold onto that old belief… so we don’t have to admit that something shifted. We can maintain the status quo. It’s safe there, where everything is the same. 

I have experienced some dramatic shifts over the past few years. Some that have made me question much of what I’ve come to learn. The biggest take-away I have rested with is to stay humble. That regardless of my conviction in a belief or fact - it can come to pass that that information is no longer relevant. I think of it as a software update. Out with what once was - and in with the new. And sometimes the initial adaptation of the new way is difficult [think about how you feel when Facebook updates its platform] - but ultimately, objectively, the new information is better, more comprehensive, and eventually you forget the previous once you’ve fully integrated the new. And repeat this cycle as needed, for the REST OF YOUR LIFE. 

People in younger generations criticize our elders for their lack of flexibility. You know the term: “Stuck in their ways.” - and yet we all can have these parts that are stuck. And lack of awareness of this stuck mentality will leave us as some version of Mr. Wilson shaking our fist on the front porch grumbling on about “Kids these days.”

[That was a Dennis the Menace reference, did you get that? 80s babes, I’m looking at you.] 

Stay humble, stay adaptable, stay young. 

I have learned so much from my husband - to be kinder, more patient; to offer greater compassion, and be aware of selfish behaviours. I have learned to be more spontaneous (I’m practicing) and to laugh when shit gets awkward. I have learned to be less of a dick - and, just as importantly, more of one when the circumstance calls for it. I have learned that you can be so kind, and still draw very firm boundaries. 

And one of my most favourite, and recent lessons: 

I have learned that you can love someone, accept someone - and therefore can ABSOLUTELY tolerate someone - even when your opinions do not align. 

[tanyaryanmusic]

The Life Lesson my Pizza Taught Me.

My musings with melted cheese. 

I’m still trying to figure out if this is a horrible idea.

No. I know it is a horrible idea.

Hey internet! Here’s a bunch of pictures of me in my underwear. Yay!

I’m hoping you can look past this narcissistic collection of photos and lend me a moment of your web-browsing time.

I have spent a lot of years in the health and fitness industry. And I, like you, have seen all of the before and after pictures from all the various work out regimes, healthy supplements, fad diets...etc. I’ve probably also done like, Every. Single. One. (Hence the elaborate collection of photos.)

(TIMEOUT)

Before I go on, please let me express how important I think it is to maintain care for your body. We get ONE of these squishy, fleshy, muscly things. I agree with the importance of prioritizing care by nourishing your body with a diverse diet, and regular movement. And I truly understand how some people’s lives have been authentically lifted by their relationship with fitness and healthy eating. But I think we lost some details along the way...

I feel we’ve come to understand that there actually is a before and an after... like our bodies and our lives are some sort of linear train track. Forward or backward.

I have a habit of observing (scrutinizing in unreasonably great detail) people, culture, society, habits... and the thing that I’ve noticed, more than anything, are patterns.

Everything seems to have some sort of natural cycle. Routine. (Work, school, relationships, politics, war, religion, the calendar year, the Olympics...)

And yet, we expect our bodies to perform on this linear plane (and cuss it out when it doesn’t comply). We flaunt the success of our before and after story, and hide our perceived failures and/or regression. Heaven forbid you gain some weight. Or lose touch with your six pack. Obviously it means we are dismal failures and doomed to a life of obesity.

Right?

Right.

You think I’m exaggerating, but it’s this line of thinking that actually does ‘doom’ people to a life of struggling with their weight. Because the failure is felt so deeply, that its quite impossible to fathom the idea of letting themselves (ourselves) down over and over. Therefore, it’s best not to try again. It’s deeply unfortunate, and makes me sad.

Our bodies are not linear. Nor should they be, they are simply bending to the will of nature. Our bodies, have their own rhythm. Their own patterns. Seasons.

And embracing this concept means accepting there is actually no such thing as failure.

This discovery SHOCKED me.

So wait. If I gain ten pounds at some point, you mean... it doesn’t mean I’ll never lose that weight again? If I eat gelato for breakfast (god bless you Italy, for having gelato cafés open at this hour), there’s no need to hide in my basement for 3 weeks shaming myself?

Whoa.

Wait. Even more wild... you are actually allowed to love your body. Even in the (I hesitated to call it this) “off season”.

What a radical concept:

To simply love our bodies all the time. As opposed to when they appear exactly the way society has trained us to believe is solely acceptable.

Ahhhh. I can feel the pressure relieving itself.

Seriously.

And then it opens things up to be -

Wait for it...

FUN.

I am having waffles dripping in chocolate, and drinking copious amounts of wine, because: ‘tis the season! And soon enough, the time will come for the leaves of steamed spinach to fall on my plate, and #yogaeverydamnday. (Or whatever your appropriate hashtag may be.)

Our bodies have seasons. They will appear differently at different times in our life, through different experiences; and you are allowed to love it through all of it. Because even if we want a linear experience, it doesn’t exist. There is no point of arrival. No destination. No point of completion. (Like, seriously. Unless you’re dead.)

Injury happens, grief happens, life happens - Italian pizza and Polish sheep cheese happens.

(Editors note: that last “happens” autocorrected to “happiness” and I found that to be a delightful and accurate, serendipitous error.)

We don’t need to hide. We are not lesser or inadequate.... we are simply a part of our natural world. In constant motion.

Again, not to be misunderstood. I love you go-getters that strive and push it at the gym everyday. I am simply driving home the idea that there is room for rest, change, shifting, and even the kind of extra sumthin’sumthin’ that inspires the great works of Sir Mix-A-Lot.

So, I dare you; To have a transcendent moment with your pizza. To deeply enjoy your life, and your body. To feel the incomparable rush of a mountain summit; seek out movement and let it bring you actual joy. To stare your belly rolls in the face and be all like: “YEAH! I f***ing LOVE cheese!”

I know, I sound like another inspirational fitspo blogger. (Ugh.) But I’m hoping that this hits harder, and reaches the eyes and the spirit of someone like me.

Someone tired of being under their own constant scrutiny and judgement; battling constant shame that’s only periodically broken by an unmaintainable figure based on incessant calorie/macro/micro nutrient dissecting.

Someone that has accidentally misunderstood the seasons of their own body as something to hide, and be dreadfully ashamed of. A way of thinking that landed me a decade-long eating disorder, and a crippling dysmorphic relationship with my body.

There is no summit to our life-mountain. (As previously mentioned, until we’re like, dead and stuff.) So, in effort to save our sanity (and our relationship with dairy) we must absolutely find a way to embrace the ebs and flow.

And love our body. Through all seasons.

Sincerely,

A lover of pizza, gelato, spinach, and yoga

[tanyaryanmusic]

When Dr. Camille D. Ryan is your mum.

Commonly you will hear of great parents that tell their kids: “You can do anything you put your mind to.”

And I feel really blessed because I am the product of two parents who repeatedly told me that over the course of my life. However, I feel maybe just one step ahead because not only did my parents verbally say those words - my mum proved it.

My parents divorced when I was 2 years old. I have never harboured resentment about this fact - it was always just the way it is. I was raised, with my little brother, primarily by my mum in Saskatoon and we would see dad on major holidays and breaks from school as he lived in Alberta.

[I want to preface before I begin, in case I accidentally imply otherwise, that my dad is and always has been a huge part of my life - even if he physically was not always able to be. My dad has shaped much of my moral system, my beliefs and my ambition. He’s both appealed to and likely instilled the systematic logic I have, as well as emphasized the importance of honesty, hard work and pursuing that which is important to you.]

Over the course of my life my mum has never made a ton of money - quite the opposite in fact. She didn’t have a secondary education so the employment opportunities were modest. It was only as an adult that I have come to realize how empty our fridge was growing up (but I never starved!) - and I never knew how financially challenged we were. I was aware of not having indulgent things that some of my friends had (trips to Disneyland or Mexico etc) but I usually didn’t think twice about it.

As an adult, I am much more aware of my mum’s life: her childhood, her past and the things she’s gone through; and it’s really amazing to me that these truly awful experiences she had and overcame never identified her. I didn’t even know about most of them until I was quite a bit older. If she struggled (and I’m sure she did) - she never let me or my brother know. I don’t recall my mum ever venting about how hard it was, blaming anyone or ever even being negative in general. She always just made it work.

I don’t know how she did it, but my mum raised two kids on a very low income. Somehow, she managed to not only qualify for a mortgage, but to sustain it and keep up with the cost of maintaining a home. And probably the most amazing piece: she decided to go to university (when I was about 10 years old - and she was 32). Can we consider for a small moment how incredible that is? Firstly, it was considerably less common at that time for adults to go to university. Not to mention a single parent with two kids, single (low) income and primary custody. She somehow had to work, pay the bills, go to school, do homework, raise us and still have somewhat of a social life. (I’m certain the latter suffered the most)

My mum did what many people would say is impossible. She didn’t make excuses - there was no such thing as “I can’t afford it.”  “I don’t have time.”  “It’s too hard.” - even though these would’ve all been very valid. The way I see it: my mum saw a crossroads. You can continue to have a mediocre life. Or you can buckle down for a few years, take some shit head on - and have a great one. She sacrificed so much and those sacrifices taught me something that I am SO grateful to know: Life is worth it. A good life is worth the struggle, worth the hurt, worth the challenge. That though it may be simpler, easier, to live in mediocrity - with what is good enough - it is ultimately more gratifying and more worthwhile to live to your fullest potential.

And she has. My mum has a Bachelor’s Degree in Marketing, a Master’s Degree in Agriculture and Economics, as well as her PHD. She’s been published multiple times in text books, magazines and online articles. She is well respected in her field. She’s innovative, intelligent, funny and is committed to helping the everyman by overturning the spread of misinformation. And the coolest part of all of this: my mum is a GREAT mum. She managed to be this amazing person, in her own right - and yet always, always put Hayden and I first. I know I can count on my mum for absolutely anything, at any time.

So, in light of it being the most famous day of extending thanks: Thank you to my parents who created the environment that supported the growth of my strong sense of self. Who have supported me when I have made decisions (the good, the bad and the ugly) - who have always let me have the freedom to make mistakes, and whom I have always known would be there for me when I figured it out.

And thank you mum - for not just telling me - but showing me that you can do absolutely. F**king. Anything.

[tanyaryanmusic]

SUNdays. #thingsthatmakemehappy #happydays

[tanyaryanmusic]

Felt happy about getting to the gym today. #persevere #thingsthatmakemehappy

[tanyaryanmusic]

Practice = progress. #happy