silhouettes of spilled ink

Last week at work while waiting for our monthly speakers program to start, two members sat next to me discussing tire brands.

The conversation was as dull as it sounds, except for one tangent that caught my attention.

“Back in Kelowna -”

“Oh, you’re from Kelowna?”

“No, I just lived there for 45 years.”

I smiled to myself overhearing this. How funny we are attaching ourselves to various places, or proclaiming the opposite; oh no, I just live here, I’m really from over there. 

The more I travel, the less I attach myself to one particular place, but many.

I am from all the cities I have lived; Stratford, Sarnia, Kingston, Vancouver, Newcastle, Smithers, Maple Ridge…

Continually, I find myself homesick for these places, yet I also find myself attaching myself to places I want to go.  They impact me just as much as the places I have lived even though I have never set foot there.

I also think this is a more interesting question.

Yet maybe that’s just the nomad in me talking.

What about you, where are the places you’d like to go?

with a red gun

I think it’s fair to say I adapt to change quickly.

I am, however, slowly realizing this is not the case for everyone. That my spontaneous nomadic attitude can frighten some.

Not everyone jumps head first into situations without an exit strategy. Others are more methodical, weighing the pros and cons, less impulsive. I believe part of the reason I fit easily into different situations is that my imagination is always on full blast, and I tend to see the end through the chaos, clutter and caution before most.

Perhaps this also comes from years of reading magazines backward.

How do you deal with change? Would you consider yourself a risk taker?

golden

everyone wants me to move, except me.

i don’t want to.

i’m feeling pressure from all sides at the moment.

it’s taken me years to feel settled somewhere. years.

i know life would be more simple if i move back.

yet there is a difference between being settled, and settling.

but no one ever writes that in a manual.

perhaps i should pen a nomad’s guide to survival.

i have lots to say.

and i would leave copies on park benches for other wanderers to pick up.

you’d pick it up and flip through, and then discard it, on the next block.

yes. you would.

because i would too.

a place for my stuff

Much to my dismay, little elves did not come in the middle of the night and neatly pack away all my belongings.

Instead, I woke up this morning forgetting I had boxed myself into my bedroom and tried on a pair of bankers boxes for skates, sailed down the hallway, finally, crashing into a giant pile of bubble wrap. This is what I get for refusing to turn on the lights because they make that insistent hum. It’s a good thing my new place does not have overhead lighting. As stumbling around in the dark to find a lamp will be much more effortless then scaling the wall for a switch. Definitely.

This is the first move I will be attempting where I actually have furniture I care about, so I have invested in stretch plastic furniture wrap, and I must admit, it’s awesome. The last time I moved a bed it was my futon in university and I flung that thing from my balcony to the street and someone picked it up and took it for themselves by the time I had got outside.  The same thing also happened with my couch, kitchen table and dresser. Did I mention this was also how I found all the furniture in the first place? Ah, I miss Kingston.

I also miss having my mother around in situations like these. I can’t recall my dad ever visiting me while I was away, but my mom (given her amazing ability to throw my stuff out) is a good person to have around when purging, and would always make the drive to help out. She’s also freakishly strong, given her small frame. I have suspected for many years, there might be a bit of Rosie from The Jetsons in there.

Any interesting moving stories? Debacles or triumphs?

p.s. I hope this forecast is true.

we’ll run like we’re awesome, totally genius

i should probably be more worried about packing, seeing as i move next wednesday. yet, i’m not.

packing always makes me realize how little i use on a regular basis, and how much stuff i keep tucked away in boxes.

makes me wish i wasn’t so restless.

that i didn’t question everything.

and that i had a giant tea-pot truck to move myself around in.

because that would be spectacular.

i’d serve the sky with a big slice of lemon.

i’ll believe in anything

i’ve never been so discouraged searching for a flat before. either places have gotten worse, or my expectations have risen. probably the latter. i said yes to a flat tonight, which holds a great location but there are a few cosmetic issues. however,  i am willing to overlook them because it is nestled in a quiet park in a good neighbourhood, plus i’m confident i can add some creative flare and as tim gunn says, make it work. the building was built in the 70s, so let’s just say there are some retro charms. also the management seemed quite friendly, which during this search i am learning is just as important as the place.

everything seems like it’s going to work out, but i can’t shake this feeling of sadness over the move. not over leaving my current place, it’s something else. maybe it’s the city. i just can’t place it. this nomad is lost.

regardless, i move in 3 weeks.

methinks insomniac tendencies will aide in packing.

you must be loving your life in the rain

One of my favourite things about listening to music is that it has this amazing ability to take you somewhere else. No matter how brief the time is, it’s hard to argue that there isn’t something really magical about piece of music only 3-5 minutes long that can captivate you.

The Interweb is abuzz today with the leak of The National’s High Violet. They have been one of my favourite bands since I first discovered them back in 2007 with their release of Boxer. Since then I’ve had the pleasure of seeing them in concert, and devoured their back catalogue so extensively that my mp3 player no longer counts how many times I hit repeat. I can guarantee this album will be on many a year-end list.

However, the thing that struck me most throughout my steady listening of the album today was back to the summer of 2007 and where I was when I first heard their music. Not so much physically, but where I was in life...You could drive a car through my head in five minutes from one side of it to the other…and how much has changed. Three years is not that long, but I feel like I have lived so many different lives in-between. Sure have had enough different postal addresses to make ones head spin. I know I’m a much different person, too. Or as my friend Todd says, “You’re the same, just more vocal.”

It’s comforting to know as you grow, your favourite artists do as well and that the more you listen, the more new associations will be formed. So the twinge of nostalgia becomes less and less but still when you want to ride the wave, it’s there too.

got no time to take a picture, i’ll remember someday

Moving provinces is like moving countries.

Never in all my moves (and there has been a lot) have I encountered so much trouble and expense, then in this move to British Columbia. Which is scary considering my move home from the UK cost thousands.

A lot of it has to do with my car, but there are other little (and not so little; so long free health care) annoyances that keep cropping up, and well,  I want my Ontario back. Never thought I’d say that.

On the plus side, I did find that dining set that perfectly defines me.

Its plum.

Jury is still out on the flatware.

mini donuts rule all

I’m off to the lower mainland.

Its about a 16 hour drive, so estimated time of arrival is tomorrow morning.

Estimated time of arrival of my furniture, about noon tomorrow.

Its always good to have a fire under ones ass while traveling.

We got to partake in fair activities last night. Which I can only describe to you as rodeo-meets-lumberjack contest-meets ploughing match-meets farmers market-meets fair with rides. I will upload pictures soon. For now, just the one below. Which has been captioned by Ali…

You look like the runner up for Daniel Day Lewis’ role in There Will be Blood

naive melody

I keep leaving the people I love.

Or strongly like.

Sometimes they leave me, but usually its the former.

Its the curse of the nomad, and it keeps getting harder. You’d think it would get easier. Although I guess that wouldn’t make it a curse. Right.

Even now, having moved here just two months ago, I’m contemplating my next move. Building my career. No one ever warns you its going to be so painstakingly hard. They don’t put that in the brochures. Not even in the fine print. There are times like tonight when I wish I had picked the easier route. Gone to the city everyone else did and made my life there. Been closer to my family and friends….my dog. Yet I know that’s not me. I know.

Still, it makes for a lonely life sometimes. Everyone I love spread across the globe. Technology makes it easier, mind you.

As I left the airport tonight, having dropped off The Boy (this goodbye easier than the last) I was pondering the recent goodbyes I’ve had and the one that sticks out in my mind the most is when I left Newcastle.

It was a gorgeous August evening. I had gone out for a drink at my favourite pub with a good friend. I was trying to commit everything to memory that night. The sound my boots made on the cobblestones, the smell of the fry truck at Monument, the Batman graffiti under the bridge, even the sound of the sirens. Afterward we stood on the stoop of my flat, trying hard to hold back tears and well, that just wasn’t working. The floodgates opened and I’ll never forget the feeling of my heart breaking. When you hear the words ‘heart break’ your mind kind of automatically goes to thinking about something romantical, but no, there are many breaks without romantics involved, and this was one of them. It was a combination of saying goodbye to a friend, but also to the city I had grown to love so dearly. Yes, I left my heart in the North. After I waved my friend, I went back inside to get my bags. My phone lit up with a text – “I’ll miss you most of all.”

In this day an age, texts, emails, etc are in such abundance we take them granted and sometimes they loose meaning because of this. That one, I will never forget though, as silly as it might sound. It’s like a letter, I’d slip in my top drawer. A reminder, in case I forget…

It’s never goodbye, but I’ll see you soon.