Life Isn’t That Serious, Revisited

Photo of the body of a stuffed long-neck dinosaur toy sitting on a ledge in front of a window. A fence with some vines on it can be seen behind the dinosaur outside of the window. Purple filter over image. White text in the centre reads, "Life Isn't That Serious / Revisited".

Content note: this piece makes mention of domestic violence and death.

I want to revisit the concept of life not being that serious.

I wrote this piece shortly after something serious happened in my life that brought up a lot of trauma and pain. I spent several long nights alone in the dark with this serious thing. The pain I felt was paired—new and fresh while also dredging up old childhood hurt.

It was serious and sad and dark, and at the same time, life went on. My friend’s dog continued to do ridiculous things for attention. I found laughter in unexpected places, like at work or with my French teacher. People kept sending me silly memes.

I thought about other difficult times in my life when, out of nowhere, something silly happened. Or something strange. Or something absurd. Right there, in the darkest of places, when a splash of light appeared. A gift from the gods, the universe, whatever your preferred term. A reminder that not everything is so deadly serious, a sign that maybe I would get through it.

I remember lying brokenhearted on the bathroom floor crying my eyes out while simultaneously aware of how silly I looked, like a toddler having a temper tantrum in the checkout line of a grocery store. We never really grow up, do we? I was so sad I could barely stand but was also having an out-of-body experience where I could see myself from an outsider’s perspective, and I looked totally ridiculous.

I remember being at my grandmother’s side facing the rawness and relentlessness of her death, the loss happening slowly before my eyes. It was ruthless, and yet I said goodbye to her surrounded by friends and family, our shared memories, and moments of lightness and laughter. Remember when Nanny and Poppa used to …?

I remember using a hat and a change of clothes to hide from his rampage in the lobby of a hotel. Perched on one of the couches, I watched him scream and throw his keycard at an employee. I tried to use the hat to cover my face while I sat there shaking with fear, feeling like a detective in a cheesy mystery movie, my “disguise” working because of his lack of awareness more than anything.

These moments with touches of humour, silliness, or absurdity are what I’m talking about when I say that life isn’t that serious: because even when it’s incredibly fucking serious, there are these little reminders that it also isn’t somehow. These moments have helped me survive the seriousness. Allowing the light to touch these dark places has helped to guide me out.

Also, when I get too serious about myself and my life, I swear that the gods start laughing at me. I believe they throw up roadblocks, ridiculous situations, and funny moments to mess with me and remind me that life can be serious, yes, but not that serious, that life is often also absurd.

The Wild (Mis)Adventures of a Queer Kinkster

Today, I am releasing a brand new zine! Details are below.

Photo of Sage's back and butt. They are wearing a long sleeve shirt, lacey black thong, garter belt, and holding a crop over their left cheek. Pink filter over image. White text aligned left along the bottom half of the image reads, "The Wild (Mis)Adventures of a Queer Kinkster". Below this and aligned right, white text reads, "Volume One".

The Wild (Mis)Adventures of a Queer Kinkster is a zine about kink. Volume One is my not-so-subtle way of coming out. I’ve been writing about kink, largely privately, for years. For the most part, I’ve kept this writing to myself for fear of public reprisal. Not anymore. In this zine, I talk about the shame and stigma we kinksters face and how our kinky sides are often relegated to the shadows. I explore what turns me on. I discuss past mistakes and what I’ve learned from them. I talk about the shit I deal with in the community as a queer and non-binary person. I also tackle the subject of cancel/disposability culture and its impacts on the kink scene. Through a blend of prose and poetry, this zine grapples with non-normative sexuality, queerness, desire, pleasure, community, consent practices, mistakes, safety, and education, and is probably my most controversial to date. Enjoy.

Buy the digital version here for $6 CAD: https://sagepantony.gumroad.com/l/APugl

Buy the print version here for $7 CAD: https://sagepantony.gumroad.com/l/oQOVH

Or become a patron and get access to digital copies of all of my zines: https://www.patreon.com/sagepantony

Are You a Writer?

Photo of an alley taken at night with streetlights illuminating it and several windows on the buildings on either side glowing with light. Pink-and-purple filter over image. White text in the centre that reads, "Are You a Writer?" Handle @sage_pantony in white in bottom right corner.

You could write every day. You could write every other day. You could write once a week. You could write once a month. You could go years without writing. You could have no set schedule for writing. You could stretch out your writing schedule, see how far it bends before breaking. You could pause while writing to check your phone, or you could huck your phone across the room while writing about it.

Nothing makes you more or less of a writer. This title does not need to be earned. It may be found. It may be claimed. It may have always been here, waiting for your acknowledgement. If you want it, you can have it, no questions asked. You do not need permission.

A writer is a person who writes or wants to write, with or without consistency, a person who feels that the word “writer” applies to them in some way or another, a person with the desire to string words together, a person with a longing to express what needs to be expressed.

A writer is a writer is a writer, and no one can determine if a writer is a writer but that writer themselves.

On No Longer Being a “Bad” French Student

Photo of a croissant with some white sugar powder on it sitting on a plate on a table with wooden slats.

I recently moved to Montréal and ordered a croissant in French. I was nervous, surrounded by flawless French speakers, thinking I would stumble or get confused and have to revert to English, but I didn’t!

I was intermittently homeschooled and in and out of the school system as a kid. No one in my family spoke French, so I didn’t learn it while at home. When I would go back to school for periods of time, I was always super behind my peers.

Unfortunately, I had some negative experiences with teachers refusing to help me catch up and singling me out in front of my classmates. I have a distinct memory of a French teacher yelling at me in front of the whole class for not understanding her, even though I was trying my best.

Generally speaking, I excelled at school, but when it came to French, I was just too far behind. I developed a sort of complex about it, hating French class because it always made me feel unintelligent, overwhelmed, and ashamed.

Coming back to learning this language as an adult has, in contrast, been such a positive experience. I’m so glad I decided to try again. I go at my own pace. I do a little every day. I have a teacher who is patient and never makes me feel bad for not understanding. He just goes slower, explains more, or finds another way to say something.

I’m also focusing on conversational French and the practical stuff I’ll need rather than getting bogged down by complex grammatical rules right off the bat.

What a radically different experience this has been. I no longer feel ashamed, not smart enough, or like I lack the ability to learn. I was never a bad French student, I just wasn’t given the conditions to do well. I have those now, so I’m doing well. Who knew!

Sometimes, it isn’t you, it’s the system. You likely aren’t a “bad learner,” but someone who is struggling because of your circumstances and an inflexible system that lacks an understanding of and compassion for those circumstances. Are you bad at a subject, or are your learning needs just not being met? No one should make you feel ashamed for struggling to learn, especially not an educator! It is quite literally their job to help meet your learning needs. If that’s not happening, then it’s on them or the broader system they’re working with, not you.

You may need a different system, educator, environment, pace, style, or approach. Don’t give up! If I can start relearning French and actually enjoy it, there is hope for you too.

Wait Time

Photo of a dirt road with grass and trees on either side and a truck with lit-up headlights at the end. Blue filter over image. White text aligned left reads, "Our lives are so short, and yet we spend so much of our time waiting." Handle @sage_pantony in white in bottom right corner.

A big part of life is about waiting. A big part of life is about learning to be patient. You can’t always get what you want, and you certainly can’t always get what you want right away. If what you want is coming, you’ll have to learn how to wait for it.

We wait in line. We wait for the school year to end. We wait for our lease to be up. We wait for the right time to speak. We wait for the night to pass. We wait for the morning to come.

Our lives are so short, and yet we spend so much of our time waiting.

You have to get comfortable with the wait. You have to learn to be patient. Patience is a virtue, but not one of my virtues. And yet, I wait. I wait because I have to. The universe gives me no choice in the matter.

There’s a lot to be found by waiting, a lot to learn while waiting. There are lessons you can only gain from waiting.

There’s growth that happens while waiting, quiet growth. Not the kind you can measure against the wall, no, the mark won’t move, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. While waiting, you might feel like nothing is happening, but really, you are transforming. Like ingredients in a crock-pot, you’re a meal that’s slowly cooking.

There’s value in waiting, as annoying as it might be. These wait times are mandatory. You must go through them. You cannot rush off to the next thing. You must pause. You must wait your turn. You must learn the lessons only waiting can give you.

You will come out the other side of these waiting periods transformed. I guarantee it. How and in which ways? You’ll have to wait and see.