I remember when the cold bitterness of Atlantic Canada ravaged through my bones, the starving wind licking and lapping up the warmth of my exposed flesh. The eyes of my parents glowed with approval, I was fluid in my conversation and engagements, always reshaping to fill voids and maneuver around obstacles.

The stiffness of my steel-toed boots pressed against the back of my ankles, with a green “CSA” approved tag visible on the side. I had just pulled them out of the box and was testing them out in my university student apartment before my first day of work. Stacks of yellow grid paper, laced with sketches and equations consumed the surfaces of my apartment, along with empty pizza boxes. The laundry basket in my room was overflowing, and everything was scattered.

My eyes were wide as I stepped onto the uneven ground of the construction site, immersing myself into a tornado of beeping, loud thumping, and men in vibrant colored hardhats. The woody scent of new lumber being cut filled the air, along with the sharpness of freshly manufactured petroleum-based materials. The site was like the inside of a bee hive, with each construction worker adding a new layer to the building, slowly growing its bones, and bringing it to life. The mobile home that served as an office sat unevenly on the ground, the steps misaligned with the main door.

 Inside, a film of dust-covered surfaces, office supplies, and grey plastic furniture. Thick, heavy packets of drawings revealed iterations and markups, a living two-dimensional skeleton, guiding the madness outside. A tall, young man with curly black hair welcomed me, his explanations being interrupted by a continuously ringing cell phone. We walked through hallways with concrete flooring exposed, and stud walls breaking up space like the branches of trees in winter, incomplete and waiting to be fleshed out. The young man turned to me and said, “I like to consider myself the grand puppet master here, pulling the strings and orchestrating the performance.”

My blonde hair was in a tight ponytail, with the padding of my hard hat leaving an impression on my fine strands. My notebook was being filled with quick, choppy sentences, capturing details and snippets of information. My phone was binging with new contacts and my mind buzzed with new names and faces. I was getting emails from 5:00am to 11:00pm and checking on the construction site on the weekends to ensure everything was in order before starting on Monday morning.

When I was in university, I dreamed of being an engineer working on complex projects at a consulting firm and applying my knowledge to improve society and solve problems. I was a vegetarian, convinced climate change was an existential crisis and that I needed to do what I could to preserve the natural environment. I wanted to build infrastructure that would be carbon neutral and energy efficient.

Not long after graduating and starting work, I moved into a new apartment, and the sound of ‘GOT EM…go…go…let’s go boys!! Fuck. Fuck’ rang through the air. My closet was filled with soccer gear, track and field sprint cleats, and other contraptions. The lean, athletic profile of my boyfriend was propped against a black leather padded chair, a controller gripped in his hands, eyes fixated on his computer screen. Behind him was white shelving, filled with titles such as “Way of the Wolf”, “The Four Hour Work Week” and “The Laws of Human Nature”. Between us there were three years of kissing in the library, laughing at the roommate we could hear having sex through the wall, sipping hot coffees in the snow, and snacking on Nutella crepes while watching movies together.

But there’s something about trying to domesticate a blue jay that doesn’t work. There’s something about always trying to turn on a light with a broken cord – forgetting that it’s probably not going to work and being left grasping for whatever you can find in the dark. I can see myself moving through the kitchen quietly, the sinking feeling of not being someone’s priority, the feeling of being invisible. That kind of imbalance is hard to sustain – and eventually, it could no longer maintain itself and he was free. So was I.

In my newfound freedom, I was curious. In many ways it felt like a miserable life, adhering to all of the unspoken expectations and taking no risks. I often asked myself, what is my life? Does what I’m doing even make sense? My curiosity propelled me to try new things that were not considered conventional. I wanted a partner that didn’t take me for granted and who acted as my teammate that could inspire and advise me. I wanted to be more than a slave to a corporation but think for myself financially, in a way that would allow me to channel my energy into ways that would allow me to build wealth, independence, and freedom. I was attracted to men with powerful minds who were dedicated to being successful with the same work ethic I had.

I want to help you have the courage to be skeptical about what you believe in, achieve greater success, and open your mind to new ideas and ways of thinking. I want to challenge you to look deeper into what you thought you knew and really question why you are living the life you have chosen for yourself. I want you to have the life you always imagined for yourself.

Xx,

The Independent Blonde