I've been thinking a lot lately about folks I miss. I've met and become close with a lot of people over the course of my life time so far...high school friends, college friends, people I've worked with, roommates. Any number of little things will make me think of these people and miss them. Some, I visit with. Some pop in and see me. I'll receive a telephone call or a letter or see some pictures on facebook and instantly be reminded of how much I enjoy this particular person and be filled with like and love for them.
Many of the people I no longer see often live around the city; I met many of them while at school. Sometimes, when I'm feeling a little lonely or nostalgic for these people and certain things they brought into my life, it's tempting to pull up and move back down South. But that saying about the grass being greener certainly applies here. There are many people I have in my life right now I'd miss a great deal should I move. My parents, grandparents, best friends, little children, even people at work who I still barely know are a pleasant addition in my life that I would miss should I know longer see them. Besides, the more I think about it, the more I realize my loved ones are all over the map. Toronto, Oakville, Sudbury, Orton, Ottawa, Halifax, Singapore.... I've gotten to a point in my life where I'm close to more people that will stay in one place any more. My friends all have lives of their own to lead and no matter where I go, there's simply no way I could be with them all.
In some senses, it's almost a relief. Realizing there's no way I can chase after my friends takes a bit of the pressure off. I can't really worry if I'd be happier living somewhere else with the knowledge that everywhere I could go would take away as much as it would offer. But it's not hopeless either. I've recieved so much good love over the last little while. A phone call from Kitchener, a letter from Halifax. A Toronto friend popped into my work to say hello. My aunt from China brought her baby home for Xmas. Another pair of Toronto friends, heading North, happened to stop into Huntsville tonight for a bite to eat. And in the hour or so they were here, I was lucky enough to run into them.
I guess what I'm saying is that if people mean enough to you (and you mean enough to people) things may change, but you'll still remain a part of each other's lives. It may be a big part or a little one, frequently or rather seldom, planned or even by ridiculous chance, it's still lovely and it's still something. Like the friend I saw tonight said, it must have been meant to happen.
Showing posts with label the city. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the city. Show all posts
Monday, January 5, 2009
Monday, November 24, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Feeling Pretty Stoked
Yowza. Just came from downtown. It's funny.....just when it seems I'm starting to run out of stimulation, when I think I'm not getting what I need from this place anymore, I go downtown and recieve so much good stuff that I feel completely the opposite. It's awfully nice.
I was speaking with a gallery about possibly displaying/selling some of my work (went pretty well I think, fingers crossed!). When I came out, I was feeling completely abuzz with excess energy. I'd been really nervous beforehand. I didn't feel entirely ready to present my work, but I knew I would never feel completely ready, and it was getting me down a bit. That lack of confidence can really make one question the validity of what they're doing. But I had a really nice talk beforehand with a woman here in town who's acting as a driving force behind my career and she gave me a lot of motivation and inspiration that I needed. The positive feedback and general exposure to other artsy folks in the gallery helped me touch base with that side of myself a little bit, reminded me that an awesome arts community does exist here. A nice phone call to my mother and genuine conversations I had with two people I ran into on the street afterwards (a casual aquaintance and a best friend) really served to remind me of the other big reason I am still in this town; the people and how great they make me feel.
Yeah. Sometimes if I get too stuck inside routine, work, the house or myself, it's easy to forget why I've chosen to live in the place I do and in the way I do at this point in my life. It's awfully nice to be reminded of why this works, where it's leading, why I'm here.
=)
I was speaking with a gallery about possibly displaying/selling some of my work (went pretty well I think, fingers crossed!). When I came out, I was feeling completely abuzz with excess energy. I'd been really nervous beforehand. I didn't feel entirely ready to present my work, but I knew I would never feel completely ready, and it was getting me down a bit. That lack of confidence can really make one question the validity of what they're doing. But I had a really nice talk beforehand with a woman here in town who's acting as a driving force behind my career and she gave me a lot of motivation and inspiration that I needed. The positive feedback and general exposure to other artsy folks in the gallery helped me touch base with that side of myself a little bit, reminded me that an awesome arts community does exist here. A nice phone call to my mother and genuine conversations I had with two people I ran into on the street afterwards (a casual aquaintance and a best friend) really served to remind me of the other big reason I am still in this town; the people and how great they make me feel.
Yeah. Sometimes if I get too stuck inside routine, work, the house or myself, it's easy to forget why I've chosen to live in the place I do and in the way I do at this point in my life. It's awfully nice to be reminded of why this works, where it's leading, why I'm here.
=)
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Always always torn.
I think I am fated for the rest of my days to be leading a double life. Ever since my parents' divorce at the age of nine, I've been split between two homes, two families, two ways of life. In high school, it became two groups of friends who represented two different aspects of my personality. In college, it became my life when I was away and my life at home.
For a long time, I've had this dream, this yearning to find myself a little apartment here in Huntsville, to decorate it, to fill it with my books and music and art, and with the people I love, make it my home. I think a big part of that longing had to do with always feeling so torn between one life and another, and wanting to make one perfect place, a base to lay my heart down and let it take root. But for a long time now, I've been suspecting college has killed that dream for me.
I lived in the city for over three years. I made friends, developed routines, found favourite places, built memories. I made myself another life. My whole time there, part of me was longing to return to this life here. But now that I'm back, and I knew this would happen, a new part of me I grew while I was away longs for the life I led there. A life of back and forth is always how I've dealt with this sort of situation in the past. And technically speaking, it seems like a totally feasible solution. But having lived this way for as long as I have, I've come familiar with the flaws. The main one being this. Part of what makes a life a home is a commitment to it, I think. And when you spend half your time somewhere else, life there goes on without you. You miss things. Children grow, trees fall, people live and love and change. And each time you come back, as much as you feel you are coming home, you feel like an outsider as well, because of all you missed.
I suppose this is the life I'm fated to. Many people live this way, I'm hardly unique. And I suppose, with time, I'll get used to it. Here's hoping.
For a long time, I've had this dream, this yearning to find myself a little apartment here in Huntsville, to decorate it, to fill it with my books and music and art, and with the people I love, make it my home. I think a big part of that longing had to do with always feeling so torn between one life and another, and wanting to make one perfect place, a base to lay my heart down and let it take root. But for a long time now, I've been suspecting college has killed that dream for me.
I lived in the city for over three years. I made friends, developed routines, found favourite places, built memories. I made myself another life. My whole time there, part of me was longing to return to this life here. But now that I'm back, and I knew this would happen, a new part of me I grew while I was away longs for the life I led there. A life of back and forth is always how I've dealt with this sort of situation in the past. And technically speaking, it seems like a totally feasible solution. But having lived this way for as long as I have, I've come familiar with the flaws. The main one being this. Part of what makes a life a home is a commitment to it, I think. And when you spend half your time somewhere else, life there goes on without you. You miss things. Children grow, trees fall, people live and love and change. And each time you come back, as much as you feel you are coming home, you feel like an outsider as well, because of all you missed.
I suppose this is the life I'm fated to. Many people live this way, I'm hardly unique. And I suppose, with time, I'll get used to it. Here's hoping.
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