For anyone who reads, this blogger is currently awaiting new initiative. To be continued...

Your Locus of Control Is Where!?

Here's a juicy one: Love.

oh, relax. As if I would ever propose to blog about that hopelessly saturated topic. Believe it or not, not all female journalism students are aspiring to be the next Carrie Bradshaw. However, we do keep reading about love so I suppose I can't knock anyone for abiding by the law of supply and demand. Anyhow, this isn't about love, at least not directly.

And I will explicitly state that the subject of this blog is not intended to occur again--ever. But it was just that juicy and elicited that strong of a reaction from me (and others) that it has spurred me to crawl from under the blanket of blog-inactivity I've nestled beneath since my return home.

So here it is:

Is the success of a marriage a product of hard work or largely a gamble?

It was one question among a handful presented in my boyfriend's Organizational Behaviour textbookto determine where my locus of control was.

locus of control - A theoretical construct designed to assess a person's perceived control over his or her own behavior.

• Someone with an internal locus indicates she feels in control of events
• Someone with an external locus indicates that others are perceived to have that control

I laughed. "pfff...imagine? A marriage of luck!?

I answered A without hesitation. I mean, isn't it obvious? Are not we living in the 21st century where we are independent and crusaders of our own destiny?

Isn't that essentially the driving line behind some of the biggest marketing campaigns to hit the market in the past decade? Microsoft and "Where do you want to go today." Nike's Just Do It? Burger King's Have it your way? What else could be the inspiration behind cult sensations like Survivor and every single mass-produced self-help book, audio cassette, magazine article and rags-to-riches story available?

Aren't we masters of our own destinies?

Apparently not, at least not for people like my long-term boyfriend with a suddenly very obvious external locus of control.

I could feel it, hitting me square in the forehead like an evil pinprick: "And you thought you had him figured out, HA!" But little more was said. I was stunned into a quiet state of shock, my mind racing:

A gamble? A GAMBLE!?
Every fibre of what I had learned, witnessed and come to believe about the institution of marriage subscribed to the idea that it was about hard work, committment and sacrifice. And suddenly I was hearing someone liken the supposed "sanctity" of marriage to a corrupted habit favoured by sleazeballs and waysiders.

[Obviously, there are exceptions to the rule. I understand gambling is not akin to the Devil's past time and that there are plenty of perfectly honest and wholesome individuals who gamble. And, I also acknowledge that in life, in particular, we gamble all the time--I mean, we smoke, we pick Door #1 in stead of Door #13 and some of us even vote NDP.]

But can we really incorporate the idea of gambling into what the trusty ol' (and oh-so-politically-correct) Oxford Canadian Dictionary defines as the legal or religious union of two people ?

...til' death do us part, anyone?

So, can we?
Back to Oxford:

gamble. v. (gambles, gambled, gambling) 1. play games of chance for money. 2. a. bet (money etc) in gambling. b. lose (assests) by gambling 3. take great risks in the hope of substantial gain 4. act in the expectation of n. a risky undertaking

Okay, so far as I've heard, no one is going to pay me if I have a marriage to someone that works or does not work. Scratch #1.

And aside from the jealous ex-girlfriends and those unfortunate souls who don't believe in love, hopefully no one is betting on the success (or demise) of your marriage. Scratch #2

And as for 2b, I suppose marriage does mean the loss of certain assets like the freedom of singledom and the chance to ever marry Brad Pitt if you happen to run into him and he falls hopelessly head over heels...oo, Brad Pitt. Who wants to take THAT gamble? Jennifer lost out--or did she win?

That leaves #3 and #4. Is marriage a risky undertaking or a calculated risk? Is marriage a great risk we subject ourselves to in hopes of "substantial gain?" And is it still kosher to consider marriage a committment "for better or for worse"--or is it even still hip to consider that a substantial gain?

I'm not naive to the current divorce rate trends, nor to changing (and often negative) attitudes towards marriage. Not every marriage can work and I have no qualms about the necessity divorce can play in certain situations. However, destiny is not entirely out of our hands--at least not how we react to it. But surely the success of a marriage is riding on more than Lady Luck.

She may be pretty, but is she all we hopeless romanctics have?
I wonder if she's single....

Now What?

The fast-growing and high-fashion it-thing of the world wide web: the "blog" is up for debate. And after participating in the blog craze I'm not yet convinced of its rightful place in "legitimate media" or even for practical reasoning for its place anywhere at all. On a bad day, I still refer to it as glorified journalling by everyone and their dog (about--unfortunately--everyone and their dog). And on the best of days, I suppose I can admit there are (minimal) uses for the blog, and maybe even one or two practical ones.

But what about this one? To continue tmmindseye? Or close its lid forever? Like I said, I'm not convinced either way. But upon urgings from Robyn--a blogger herself and self-professed reader of this blog--I will continue blogging (for now).

What to blog?

Undecided. I am considering a "Fat Blog," about the mighty uphill battle to a skinnier me after the pleasantly plumper me returned from England to a less than warm welcome (but only the plumped parts, all else was welcome).

Robyn figures it would be entertaining. I know it would be entertaining (we all relish each other's pain, don't we), I've just yet committed to airing such delicate laundry of my own as weight and self-image for all to inspect.

More to come--though Kirstie Ally may have a stronghold on the confessions-of-a-fat-girl market. And open to suggestions.

Finally

This blog is for Robyn especially because she would be most proud of me for my trip home:

All was well, even despite the fog that had settled in over what seemed to be the entire country. But I flew out of Manchester, as scheduled, early on the morning of December 23.

Manchester to Chicago - security lines, checks, lines, checks, waiting..sitting...standing. Boarding.
Chicago to Seattle - security lines, checks, lines, checks, waiting..sitting...standing. Lying down. Boarding.

Seattle to Kelowna - the big one. The last one. FINALLY after four months I am making the last leg of my journey. It's been near twenty-four hours and I haven't slept. I get my boarding pass and wander around the empty airport to pass the time ...

Even curled my hair in the women's washroom, which did wonders for my sleepless appearance and to keep me awake. Nothing like a quick lick of a scalding curling iron across the forehead to bring you to attention.

Board the plane - the excitment is building. I think I at LAST really let it all settle in. I was going home. It was okay to get excited - it was right around the corner and all I had to do was complete one measly 45-minute flight up the West Coast and of course ..

wouldn't you know it.

Cancelled. Due to fog on the landing strip (despite all the suspiciouns of passengers on board and eager family and friends awaiting the incoming flight in Kelowna).

I was stunned. And then I was mad. I go an entire four months without a hitch and NOW a flight has to be cancelled!?! ...fog!?

I left the fog in England! No, apparently I brought the fog with me.

Well it wasn't going to stop me. No way, I was bound and determined to get home, even if it meant making the trek myself - and so I did.

At the Custumer Service desk 30 minutes later I convinced two other passengers that renting a car and driving to Kelowna that night would be more economical, efficient and fun than doing what Horizan Air had ordained for us:

Collect your baggage (you'll find it in Baggage Claim immediately)

What!? It's already been taken off the plane!?

Yes. And you can enjoy this flight home tomorrow evening. Sorry for an inconvenience.

Sorry!? I have to find a place to stay tonight, kill an entire day in Seattle, return to the airport with my two enourmous bags of luggage and then hope that the same flight won't be cancelled? And arrive home early Christmas morning!?

As you can see, it just didn't sound appealing. So, battling tears (because by now, it's a solid twenty-four hours without sleep) we jump a few more hoops and by midnight we are on the road.

A. myself, nearly delirious without sleep. Canadian. going home. Aged 21
B. Mala - fine. American. going to Kelowna to visit her boyfriend. Aged 23
C. Josiah - randomn friendly guy that chatted me up before boarding the plane. US Marine. going to Kelowna to visit parents for Christmas. Aged 21.

We were an odd trio, but we had the same agenda and that's all that mattered. None of us knew how to drive from Seattle to Kelowna, but darned if that would stop us. Once on the road we attacked maps and utilized cell phones home to anyone near MapQuest.

Mala drove out of Seattle to the border, where we are rigourously checked over.

What's so suspicious about three total strangers travelling together in a rented car in the middle of the night!?

After the border, Josiah manned the wheel until we hit the Coq. Once there, I definitely took over having the most experience driving in snow. Our Impala was good on gas, but definitely had All Seasons on at best and so going was slow (averaging 45km an hour).

Eventually, we hit Merritt where I was met by my frazzled boyfriend. I parted ways with Mala and Josiah and within two hours (6am) I was at last in Kamloops, B.C. and in my much missed bed.

Wow, a story for the books "..remember when I jumped in a rental car with two strangers and drove home?"

I still hear from Josiah. He texts me on a regular basis in Southern California where he is based. He leaves for his second tour of duty in Iraq in September. I heard about his first time there during our drive - the most interesting tidbit being an answer for why he seemed to be driving down the middle of the road all the time:

"well, yahsee...in Iraq when I'm drivin the tank I like to taker' down tha middle of tha road cuz' there's bombs and stuff closer to tha sides...so this way, I ain't gonna run overem'."

mmhm. Okay. Hey - how about I take over for a while?