Boyhood

​Boyhood got its wide release the other day and, with that, I received quite a few messages from friends saying how incredible it was (with stellar ratings to back it up). There are far more intelligent things about the movie written on the internet, but I like writing about things I like, so here we are.

I saw Boyhood about a month ago with a male friend. I thought that the viewpoint would be more specific to those of us that grew up boys (the movie title seems to say this) but, after reading that director Richard Linklater originally wanted to call it 12 Years, I realize it's less about a boy growing up and more about how any of us did. 

We remember the mundane, and that's where his filmmaker eye focuses. It's a far less ostentatious, easier-to-swallow Tree of Life. We're not thinking about sunlight filtering through trees while running down a picturesque tree-lined street. We remember the dead bird we found in our backyard one summer, because didn't we all find and poke a dead bird once? And that's why, when described to friends, the movie's premise sounds so dull. But that's growing up - characters, story, but no plot. ("Plots are artificial," Linklater says.)

The other evening, I got into a pretty nasty fight with my little sister, one of my best friends and my mirror in most things. She's moving away soon, a feat that's remarkably parallel to Mason's in Boyhood, and I'll miss her very much. Not too long before that fight, though, we were on another one of our hurtling conversations - moving between side-splitting memories of our shared upbringing and discussions about where we saw our future selves. The other night, we watched a deer in the woods, stumbled upon during a run, and talked about what our hypothetical weddings would be like. Because, all social constructs aside, that's what you do in unfettered conversations with your sister.

And that's what you remember when you look back (the deer, the stupid fights, that time you drew eyes on her chin for a laugh). After the movie, I thought about how if I were to narrate my whole life to someone thus far, it would only span about two and a half hours. The length of Boyhood.

The #Outdoors

Gould Lake

It's not too often that I get outside. I'm a suburban girl at heart (one who sometimes touts herself as a city girl, ha) whose view of the Great Outdoors is the conservation area across the street, when I'm not commuting to the city for work. It's something, but I could definitely use getting out more.

Growing up, my family made a point of going outdoors on occasion. Starting in my mid-teens, we made annual camping trips (which I've since stopped going to) and, when I was 9, went on a landmark cottage week in Blind River where I learned to catch frogs and fish fish. It was great.

This resembles a photo from my early-2000s MySpace page.

Two weeks ago, a friend invited me up to Kingston for a canoe trip. Besides the weekend being a refreshing break from Toronto, it was a great way to reconnect with some forest, do some birdwatching (one of those hobbies, y'know) and lie around eating blueberries while complaining about overzealous boaters. 

Getting outside gets you healthy. Millennials, which The Atlantic can't seem to stop writing about, then face a tough divide - do we escape the suburbs to live in the cities, where work is, or remain in close proximity to our parents' backyards and conservation areas, all for a bit of the outdoors? The grey concrete and muted colours of the city always feel suffocating after my morning walk by the woods (yes, actual woods), if you ask me.

So, though it appears that there's nothing terribly wrong with heading outside, why are so many people disinclined to do it?

Trying to chill beer in the lake. It didn't really work.

There are a few reasons (laziness, "too much" busy work, etc.) but accessibility is one of the biggest ones. I'm incredibly lucky that my parents could afford to get us three kids away. Camping equipment (along with fees, gas, food and other supplies) can be costly. 

For a lot of families, heading to a local park is the only option. And, even then, seeing a few trees thisclose to a parking lot can hardly compare to hearing a loon call for the first time.

That's why there are many great programs that help bring inner city youth (who often don't have a way otherwise) to the outdoors. It helps with education, beyond a multitude of other things. And it's something that some of us never realize we're lucky to have.

Okay. I'll end this here before it sounds like a love note to living in the suburbs (for now), not that it isn't already.