It's early - really early. But I can't sleep anymore.
I'm home. And it feels like there's so much to do, to say, to feel before I leave in less than a week. It's never long enough. I just start to feel reconnected and then I have to leave. And then there's this disconnect that surfaces as homesickness. It usually lasts weeks. And in those weeks I'm caught questioning the choices I've made - am I supposed to be here? Is this the life I'm supposed to be living?
These are honest thoughts.
My family is together. I'm camping at the parks I spent my summers exploring. I have a niece and a nephew here. I haven't seen these friends in years, but we talk as if no time has passed at all. I drive past my child hood home and I cry tears that are innocent and real - there are so many memories on that driveway alone. My dad built that garage and in each corner of the cement foundation our names are etched. My high school doesn't exist anymore, which I'll never get used to. I entered those doors on my first day as a freshman and my senior brother shouted my name across the auditorium, over the heads of nearly every other student and I thought my life was over. I said goodbye to my Gaw in this hospital, held his hand and learned for the first time what it meant to really let go. I sit at my Grandma's dining room table where she offers me a slice of "the most beautiful cheese bread" with "the loveliest fresh tomatoes". My Pops gave me this painting when I went to treatment for the first time; my cousins and I study his signature, which will never again be written. I see the table in the Irish Pub that Nick and I sat at on Canada Day when he told me we were dating. The closets are still a mixture of both mine and my sister's clothing (wearing her sweater as we speak). Marlo instinctively crawls underneath my parent's old pine bed just like she's done since she was seven weeks old (although she barely fits now). So much history...
It's not as though I don't have monumental appreciation for the life I've built out west. I am truthfully in awe of all that myself and my boyfriend have accomplished together in Alberta. I think back to the day we left this house, the very house that I'm sitting in right now, I remember my little silver Toyota Matrix packed to the brim with vacuum sealed bags of clothes, road snacks and a few house essentials. A space for Marlo's bed was carved out between Rubbermaid containers and I barely had enough room for my feet in the passenger seat because we crammed in all the textbooks that we might need for our pending "careers". I remember the drive through northern Ontario, which seemed to be endless, I remember cruising through the prairies for the first time taking pictures of miles on miles on miles of sameness, I remember crossing the Albertan border for the first time and Nick and I's first ever apartment together in Grande Prairie on the street where Marlo would run away for the first time and I would call home to Ontario looking for answers, which hardly made sense but never-the-less felt right.
Now, we're in another town. Have been for some time. We've met people that I know will be part of our lives forever. We've started things. We've finished things. We've got a lot of things on the go. We each have cars now. Marlo's got a little doggo sis. We've travelled more. Nick's faith is fishing, mine is yoga. I know what to expect when I think about the Canadian Rockies. BC is just a little road trip away (in comparison to the multiple cross-country roadies we've since embarked on). We've watched relationships grow, knots become tied, smiled with our family and friends as babies are welcomed to the world. I'm officially back in school, like actually registered now haha. And Nick and I are strong, a result of going through the highs and lows of it all. Also, history...
Chapters - these are life chapters. Freshly 27, I've taken many breaths on this earth. Each breath is different and each insinuates history in the making. I've got more breaths to take, hopefully many more. And just as each breath before this moment has been different, each to follow will be as well.
I can ask myself if this is the life I'm supposed to be living. I can wonder if I should be here and not there. But, time will pass and things will eventually be so different again - another chapter will manifest without me even realizing it's happening. It might be there, it might be here, it might be somewhere completely unforeseen and unanticipated. This is the adventure. Life.
It's early - really early. I can't sleep anymore. And I don't want to. I've got a week to make even more memories on this soil before I make more memories in Alberta before I eventually return here, in some capacity, to once again make more - it's home to so many of my life chapters. I'm crazy to think I'll get away without feeling homesick. I wouldn't want to. Homesickness is a product of love. How lucky I am to experience it.
The honest learnings and raw reflections of my practice and my life. Unedited.