Found all of the financial aid information I could find over the weekend and will sit on it until I can think straight again, as two straight all-day training sessions are only half-way over and work keeps on piling up in my absence. One part of me just wants to belt it out, but I need every dime I can get before the end of this summer.
While fishing out a book I borrowed from a friend three years ago, I found this, with no idea whatsoever where it came from (as I don't think it ever belonged to my old roommate) but I must have packed it with the move here. Our first Canadian money. A good omen for the near future.
I hope I'm not always this tired while in school, though.
What it also means, though, is that a huge part of me misses being in a band, with playing shows, going on tours, and seeing the country part and parcel of the whole experience. It's been nearly a year since I bid farewell to my last band, which was a chance to spend time with good friends on a regular basis just as "the unemployment year" was gathering steam and I was realizing just what a long, tough fight I was in for. I gave two-and-half years of my life to the band I was in before that, which was a great ride packed with ecstatic, visceral moments unlike any other, but after nearly 100 shows it had morphed into something I didn't recognize anymore, and it was just time to go. I'll never forget the ride of my first band, when (after we'd finished our first and only tour) I woke up one day and panicked, realizing that I had accomplished the one thing I really wanted to do that I had any control over (unlike all of the grad programs I was looking into, trying to find something where I felt I could really contribute something). I literally did not know what to do next, and lo and behold, I ended up somewhere that I would only get about two years' furlough from over the next eight years.
I used to go to shows all the time; they kept me going. So much restless and organized creativity was to be drawn from and contributed back to (which was the part of the "scene" that was always the biggest draw), great people to get to know. Plus, working in a bar that boasted a great live music venue allowed me to take in hundreds of bands, many of which were outstanding. But suddenly I wanted to be away from everything, to take stock and figure out some other way to turn people's heads. And with my money spigot quickly slowed to a trickle and not wanting to talk about having been booted from my job (the first wave of The Great Recession, long before everyone knew someone who was out of work), I just stopped going. Nothing out there was inspiring, and it felt good to stay in on the weekends, as though I was taking my life back from the constant checking-out-of-bands. And frankly, I was, and I did. I was done with hardcore, done with pit ninjas, ADD kids, and poseurs masquerading as people somehow against the grain of society. (Then I went back on that for a spell, and it was fun, but I'm REALLY done with it now.)
I miss playing and seeing live music terribly, but as a performer, when I stopped seeing many people I really wanted to see at the shows I played - when it became more about performing in front of strangers than getting to know people as people, instead re-imagining a "fan base" to try to cultivate or pander to - it was time to take time out. I'm really hoping that Toronto has a musical needle in a haystack to find, one that'll re-open the outlet in a small way. Until then, I bide my time, give thanks for all the people I've been able to get to know as a part of that process of taking in and giving back, and look forward to what lies ahead.
My next "tour" will take me, Jen, Negative, and Xenu to the northwestern edge of Lake Ontario, which will be only the second time I've seen it. The only other time I saw it was just north of Rochester, New York, the day after playing a show as part of one of a dozen bands to 300 people all going a huge swirl of awesome crazy inside the lodge of a public park in Pittsford. This view was nearly the polar opposite, but just as beautiful, and as happy and content as I was at that moment, I had no way of knowing that one day I'd call the other side of that Great Lake home.
I'll be getting familiar with the website of the Canadian Consulate in Detroit, as it turns out. My stress level has plummeted after giving it some review, as my work experience that related to U.S. immigration and visa laws led me to expect far greater difficulty. (The hardest part, if I could call it that, will be getting the financial aid piece hammered out over the coming weeks.) As if to assuage people who work with numbers constantly and have been conditioned to expect the worst, they have a breakdown of how many applications are processed within various timeframes ranging from 2 days or less (49%) to 28 days or less (81%). Not weeks or months, but days.
My friend Don gave a great recommendation to ditch the U-Haul idea and pay someone to move everything from here to there (which will surely cost more, but saves a flight back from Toronto to Minneapolis to get my car and our two cats and do the whole 1000 miles over again). Now, if only Allied Van Lines would stop calling constantly to set up my in-home moving cost estimate (honestly, it's been over a dozen calls in the last ten days, from the same 260- number in Fort Wayne, Indiana). At least I know what it's like to be desperate for a callback for work that doesn't come, so it's easy to put that insistence aside.
I can't really explain how unemployment eventually improved my outlook on pretty much everything, but it sure as hell did. Especially since I only ever stress out about things when I'm tired. More and more (and timed well with Jen's new job), when I get stressed, I think, "it's time to go to bed," and eventually I get there, sleeping it off. I've become a big fan of the quiet, late at night.
Having cleared the toughest hurdle of admission to the program, I took some time and made a rough outline list for the transition that grouped easily into four categories:
- visa
- moving of stuff
- money
- finding an apartment
The fact that money was third tells me that I've got the right perspective going forward, as I keep reviewing maps of the Greater Toronto Area to start to hone a sense of geography. Anytime I've committed to moving, my compass of "home" starts to change at that instant, but less so this time, with no mental map of any kind. Strange that now I can use things like Google Earth to get a literal sense of what a neighborhood looks like, and reviewing apartment postings on Craigslist and the associated maps has already helped me to realize what places are simply too far-flung to be practical. I'm hopeful that Jen and I can find a place that will be equally convenient for both access to school and employment opportunities (reviewing the killer public transit options will help that long) and when I think of the two of us walking around and exploring our new town... well, few things make me happier than that. I mean, there are eleven streetcar routes! And a solid subway system to boot, which to me has always been the hallmark of a big city that's proud to be big and welcoming of all comers.
So often, it's been the case that there's never enough time to fully digest something new and interesting, be it a book, a magazine, or a city that I played on one of the In Defence tours. The play-it-faster part of me (as well as the "band father" that looks to manage the unknowns) has been the cause of some anxiety with so much far off, but the wrap-the-horizon-around-my-waist part (a favorite part of this great book) is starting to win, and instead of feeling the glums of another work week about to begin, I'm feeling inspired, relaxed, and ready for what lies ahead.
Okay, so no lists. Today was busy and social with lunch and ice cream cake with Jen's grandfather for his 88th birthday, shopping for a gold lame' pencil skirt, a late-afternoon nap, and attacking a pile of dirty dishes. But one of the things I enjoy about doing dishes (especially when Jen's napping and things are quiet) is that I get to listen to episodes of "This American Life" on the iPhone that are always interesting and informative. I listened to their October 2009 stories on the U.S. health-care debate and in the midst of getting irritated at how so many facets of American culture conspire to keep screwing it up (Americans think more is better, doctors are afraid of lawsuits and discouraged from limiting services, insurance companies know they can't keep raising overhead), I thought about how the health care experience might be less crafty and shady different in Canada, but that to what extent it will be, I have no real idea. That brought me to the computer to get started on Sallie Mae, another entity that I've never had to deal with.
I am proudly over-prepared for many things and part of me wants this to be no exception, though I'm trying to let some mellowing of age show through and just let more things happen, since five months from now is still a long way away. (I remember after I interviewed at the U of M's Carlson School last year and asked about financial aid, the student I was paired with for my class visit - who was only taking a concurrent JD/MBA program - said "just apply in August and it'll come through when it comes through.") So in that spirit I decided to get started with my Sallie Mae application and wandered into the Stafford loan section, but didn't get much further than my biographic information, as my mortgage background has at least prepared me for what "sign the promissory note" and other things mean. No reason to have to figure all of this out on a chill Saturday (temperature and otherwise). But a couple of things already have me a little tweaked: first, even at nearly 38 years old, I have to list two people as credit references. Not my credit union, where I've had accounts in good standing for over half of my life, but "two separate adult references with different U.S. addresses who have known [me] for at least three years." Presumably, with no financial expertise expected, these are the people whom Sallie Mae will first hound if I don't pay up starting in August of 2012 when I'll be three months past my expected graduation date. But the online system won't advance the screens until I enter this information, so anticipating that applicants will either want to bypass this or won't be sure of whose names to put down, the buttons to choose from at the bottom are Next and Save For Later. And innocently, the system says "the first reference should be a parent (if living) or legal guardian."
Hmm.
I'd rather not list either of my parents as credit references. More online sleuthing will soon commence to see what I should really expect, but what if I'm not allowed to get creative with the word "should" above? Is this system so archaic, still? And what if my parents had bad credit (which they don't)? Would I qualify for less if I had the simple bad luck of being born to a current or former deadbeat? I know I'm lucky to have been able to complete my undergrad degree on the cheap, so that I haven't had to deal with this before, but there is definitely a Star Chamber-esque quality already making itself felt, even as I only dip my toe in the water.
One of the advantages of planning ahead is that figuring things out allows them time to sink in and positively alter strategy. I'd already disregarded my school's recommendation to first seek out the Sallie Mae Smart Option Student Loan Program, as I shouldn't have to have a co-signer with my credit history and higher FICO score, and we are in an age where resources are out there, even in a stank economy, that I can find if I just look in the right places. Or who knows, maybe Sallie Mae'll have a customer service line that can answer these questions. (Pausing for laughter. Funny how I don't trust giant financial institutions after having worked for one for four of the last five years.)
I try to dig further, but having started things a bit before 10pm CST and that time now having passed, I've entered the "system is unavailable at this time due to routine maintenance" time of the day. Exhale, close eyes, facepalm.
So, fuckin' A, on to FAFSA, eh?
Tomorrow it begins, the lists, the organizing. Work had a morning meeting today about how the market is changing, how the approach needs to change, and to their credit, there are good ideas and genuine enthusiasm from the leaders to help make the ideas happen. It'll still be the sameness, the burger-flipping, the same cube, hammered into this little box. But five months from now, I'll be across the border, not looking back.
Most of the last fifteen years have been an exercise in hope wearing off, being interested in too many things and forced to wedge myself into what I can find, which is generic, stuck in environments full of people that just ended up somewhere. Too harsh? Simplistic? Of course. My solution? To blow up my life, leave familiar streets and neighborhoods, and take on thousands of dollars of new debt, all for hope, for my mind to have a chance to soar again.
It's no wonder that people are stuck in economic prisons: unless you're rich, everything's stacked against you making this kind of a move, in life and in geography. I'm defying that stack and it's heartening, even though I threaten to forget that every other day.
Just because I have a goal doesn't mean that I have to do something about it every day. Some days it's best just to go to bed early and take another swing tomorrow.
The big swing connected and the ball is over the fence, but the game's just starting. While we're hardly moving to Outer Mongolia or Antarctica, there are already a blizzard of things to figure out and unknowns surrounding finances, visas, how to move everything, where to live. I'm wishing I had my aunt's zeal for making lists, but in channeling that, it'll be better than trying to keep it all in my head, as is normal. And hopefully the lists will enable me to better enjoy the full picture of a new country, having never lived outside of the Twin Cities.
All the "move to Canada" jokes never did much for me prior to the first W presidency, as my third-party preference prompted someone to put a hand on my stomach at a house party and say "you wouldn't understand since you haven't got a womb." All the left-wing superiority complexes put together haven't kept America from sliding into a ditch that I never could have imagined as I was growing up, and while Canada is not nirvana, I'd much rather get a fresh start by making a clean break, as I approach the stereotypical mid-life with a new determination.
More to follow. I'm already glad to have started.
