The Musings of Eleanor Magpie

I just arrived home last night from my whirlwind trip to the city. I had a lot of preconceived notions about this trip; I lived there for over three years of my life, experienced my first real independence there, formed friendships, built routines, made a home. And I was desperate for it, as I hadn't been there in so, so long. This desperation and my tendancy for nostalgia led me to assume I'd be all fuzzy wuzzy the whole time I was there, and that I wouldn't want to leave when the trip was over.

It's funny how differently things can turn out.

Part of the reason for my unexpected response is because you really can't ever go home again. Things shift and change, sometimes drastically, sometimes subtley, but it never feels quite the same. The other part of the reason is that some things never change.

The whole Toronto part of our trip was like that, exactly the same. I'd expected to have some sort of 'Wow, it's great to be back,' feeling the instant we stepped off the subway downtown. But oddly, it was as if I'd never left. We hit the streets and there I was, nothing unusual about it, every part of me felt as if I did it every day. The only sense of longing or relief I had was that I was able to find every item I needed for work in about two seconds, and a wish that Toronto was closer so I could hop a bus and do that every time I needed something.

The Go train was like that too. I stepped aboard expecting to be gazing out the window the entire time, watching all the old scenery go by, my heart warmed by the familiarity of it all. (Seriously, I'm a cheese ball for 'the way things used to be.') But I may as well have done it every day that week, because I found myself uninterested, and spent the whole time beading, barely glancing at the window.

Oakville was where things were different. I was looking forward to riding a bus around again, but we were picked up in a car by a friend and her new (to me) boyfriend. We went back to her apartment in a building we had never been in and hung out for a while with a cat we'd never met. We then went to visit our other friends in their new house in a part of town I'd never really spent any time in. The stores we visited were new, we went out to a new place, even the taxi cab we rode in was different, with some new-fangled, computerized fare meter instead of the old red, digital clock-looking one.

Throughout this whole trip, I kept catching glimpses of my old Oakville world; a restaurant here, a bank there, the very top of the building we used to live in peeking over the wall as we passed it on the highway. But everything I saw was from a slightly different angle, a new perspective; it was as if I was viewing everything from a dream or like it was an exhibit at a museum. I could see it, but at a distance, I couldn't touch it or experience it the way it used to be.

Back in Toronto the following day, it was much as it had been the day before. I felt like a natural and completely ordinary part of my surroundings once again. And one thing that may seem contradictory to that statement had also not changed; I still can't stand the crowds. The mall, the streets, every place we wandered in an attempt to pass time while waiting for our bus was absolutely packed and busy. Sometimes I'm oblivious to it, sometimes I'm not. And when I'm feeling particulary tired, as I was, and a little ill, like I had since Friday, it's hard to deal with. That was one thing I hadn't expected, to be so glad to finally take a seat on the Northlander home.

Now I don't want to make my trip seem like a disappointment, because it certainly wasn't. The only thing I regret was not being able to meet up with a few good friends of mine there. But everything else was nice. It was cool being able to see Jen in her new apartment, which is an absolute dream, let me say. The view was wonderful, the cat was great, her boyfriend seems like a real sweetheart. I liked hanging out with Simon and Shane as well. That new house is great too and I had a genuinely good time. It was nice to see the city and buy everything I needed and remind myself of all the awesome supplies available to me there. And it was really nice to have a quiet morning walk with Seguin around our old town, even if it was completely different, something about it did feel the same.

What made it so strange, I suppose, was not the absence of emotions I'd expected to have, but instead the presence of ones I didn't expect to have. I was surprised by how instantly at home I felt in Simon's new house, by how nice I felt about Jen's new man. I was warmed by the feelings of home and contentment I got from and with Seguin, walking around and having an unexpected talk about Christmas. I was taken aback by how much I missed little Penelope.

But most of all, when the trip was over, I was caught off guard by how relieved I was to be back in Huntsville again. The instant I stepped off the bus, I was so completely grateful for the cold, clean air, the empty road, the space, the dark, the snow, the quiet. That's not to say that I no longer like the city; I'm still eager for the next time I visit. But having felt so torn between two places for the last year or so, I fully expected this trip to trigger a desire to move back. So I was completely surprised by its having the opposite effect, providing me instead with a sense of closure and contentment. Another era of my life has ended and the parts that remain have taken their places in my life. And another era has begun.