it's late ... blood roaring ... & the jugular

I like to tell people that I’m boring.

I say that because I’m from Toronto – and my version of fun feels too unique.

I’ll paint a picture.

I don’t like going to clubs. Instead, I go to the Imperial Pub every Sunday to play Dungeons & Dragons with my friends.

I’ve never slept with anyone – ever. Before I had my proper first kiss, I had finished my degree, ran a marathon, aged twenty-two years, and started getting cellulite (woo-hoo).

If it’s late, and I’m tired, I’m just going to go to bed.

I love my friends more than anything, but at times prefer the company of my bike named Peppy. The ticking of her chain and that gentle hum, as those skinny wheels fly across the tarmac, is as valuable to me as advice from a wise sage.

That’s my version of fun though - practicing fear. Danger has always been my boy next door, and I can’t recall a time where I avoided him. And I'm not just talking about bombing down a steep black diamond ski run... I've put my social wellbeing at risk. Just ask me about my rap career in grade nine... and how it didn't go so well at the school talent show.

Have you ever been to a birthday party where they bring someone in to show off insects and reptiles? Usually, the birthday boy/girl is forced to close their eyes as a tarantula is dropped on their head. I was always the first to lunge for the large snake when it was brought out. I wore it proudly around my neck like a living scarf.

Do you remember recess? In elementary school, I loved to fight boys at recess – before I even knew what the first rule of fight club was. When my mum picked me up after the final bell, I trotted into the backseat of her car, visibly disheveled and smelling of body odour. I remember catching my own reflection in the rearview mirror. Round grey eyes behind a curtain of wild strands.

There are three words I heard a lot as a kid. The primary colours of MJ, if you will:

1)        Bossy (the female-friendly version is “driven”)

2)        Excited (or bubbly)

3)        Creative

A diehard creative, I couldn’t imagine my life without the arts front and centre. As nice as that is, I used to believe that I needed to land a job to have any social value. If I couldn’t at least be equally yoked with peers who went into STEM, then I’d be some huge fuckup.

Years later, I've landed myself a job that I love. That old belief seems ridiculous now.

But recently I’ve been focusing less on my westernized goals and more on my drives.

What drives you?

Is it getting sand everywhere? Or putting something weird in your mouth? Or staring into space? Or pressing your nose against the window? Or feeling your blood roaring in your ears? Or feeling your heart beat out of your chest?

I’m driven by adventure.

I will be writing non-fiction articles. Whether it's about eating bugs, hitting the town with a bunch of strangers, or painting a mural in a remote corner of South Africa, I hope they inspire you to have your own experiences. To say "fuck it" and just let go. My dad often tells me I was born with my fists clenched. I was an angry baby. A loud baby.

"Just let go, MJ."

This is my criteria for these particular articles:

1. For something to count as an adventure, the stakes must be high. A great distance must be traversed, or a threat must be overcome. We hold danger’s hand... and sometimes we shove our tongue down its throat.

2. I don’t want to add to the monotonous rhetoric around travel. The articles will be distinct, occasionally unflattering, and brutally honest. However, these articles are not intended to offend. They will not put anyone in compromising positions.

3. Each article will have supporting photos and videos for the sake of validity. Some faces may be blurred.

I’m naming this collection “Monzo.”

If you ask me why I named it that, I’ll be sure to tell you.

MJ