heavy and light.

It seems that change is the only thing I've been able to depend on lately. I'm in a (somewhat) new town again; last year I spent my four months of summer here before going back to school. Now that I've graduated I don't know when I'll leave this town and that brings both a sense of security and a sense of anxiousness. Don't get me wrong, I love this little farm town of 1,000 but I have no friends here, no one to talk to when my boyfriend goes to hang out with the boys he grew up with. I love his sister to death and she's one of my favourite people, but sometimes I wish I had a group of friends to grab drinks or coffee with. I'm going to try and expand a bit but as a shy person meeting new people scares the heck out of me. I long for community. Right now I'm in a nearby town's coffee shop and it's the most at home I've felt in a while; coffee shops are always the same, regardless of province. They're familiar and comforting.

The past months have been chaotic, but not necessarily in a bad way. I finished school two months ago and my dad visited New Brunswick for a week, staying at the farm with my love Tyler, and I while we toured around the province. My mom and sister then came for two whirlwind days and finally it was my graduation from university. There was no real fanfare or deep emotion, as all my closest friends from university had transferred or dropped out a year or two prior, but it was a good way to get closure for a strange chapter in life. To be honest, the thing I'll miss most about living in Sackville will be the horses I grew to love as my own. They have my heart, and their owner is the most precious woman. Being away from New Brunswick is strange.. soon I'll have to change my phone number. College wasn't like anything I would have expected and I still haven't figured out if that is good or bad.

Tyler and I then drove 1700 kilometers in two days from New Brunswick to Ontario and we've been here about 5 weeks now. I'm keeping busy – I work as a keyholder at an independent bookstore, I help my love with the labor work on the private vineyard he manages (I get tractor driving lessons this week!), I've been selling prints online, house and pet sitting for some of the people in town and I've been working really hard at the vegetable garden in the backyard while occasionally selling the extra at the farmers market. Tyler's family is absolutely lovely and I'm so blessed to be living with them for now. Living with parents may be considered lame and cliché for graduates, but both of us are pretty broke and neither of us know where the hell we want to live or what we want to do with our lives so we're taking the summer to try and figure things out.

I'm at a time of transition and confusion. I don't know where I want to live or what I want to do and because I've been so mobile in my life I don't feel like I really have a home base. Aside from family, even my hometown holds nothing but people I used to know and places I used to frequent. It's odd feeling like such a drifter. Sometimes I feel light and filled with inspiration; other times I'm so overwhelmed with doubt and confusion that all I can do is breathe in and remember to stay in the moment. Tonight I made the house a dinner of lettuce wraps, watermelon salad and chips served with strawberry salsa & guacamole; feeling as though I had a purpose filled me up more than the food itself. Things will turn out alright; I just need to remember that more. I plan on trying to make myself write more as, although I've wanted to, it feels like every time I put pen to paper my thoughts run dry. I hope to solve that. I hope to grow. I hope to plant roots somewhere, to find a place that allows me to attach myself and bring forth nourishment and life.

“Our hearts are heavy and light. We laugh and scream and sing. Our hearts are heavy and light.” - Jamie Tworkowski

Coming to terms with home

“I was born very far from where I belong and I am on my way home.” 
For many of my teenage years, I carried this quote with my like a child carries a comfort blanket. I felt as though I did not and could not properly belong to a physical place that could entrance and encompass me – and I ran. I started becoming a chronic wanderer, from city to city, country to country, province to province. I didn't wander to travel, however; I wandered to find a home. I adopted every new town in which I inhabited a bedroom as though it was a breathing organism that could offer me comfort and answers. Every new address put more miles between myself and where I came from; even now, I have a health card for one province and a driver's license for another, despite living in a third province completely separate from the aforementioned.

When I was younger I got my energy from the city – I could feel the pulse of its people through the streets, see their triumphs through the skyscraper lights, hear their sorrows through the raindrops on cardboard boxes. Growing up in two different suburbs as the oldest child, I was never exposed much to the downtown core of Vancouver, but when I attended an adult upgrading school in my 12th grade nestled in her heartland, I felt as though a new part of me had been opened up. I spent most of my free time skateboarding along the seawall in my then regular attire of either leather pants or a leather biker jacket, walking the streets until they were embedded into me like the veins in my body, and meeting new people while learning their stories. Many of my new friends were homeless or at risk of being homeless and although this terrified my poor mother, they were some of the only people whose eyes I could meet during conversation. See, I had just gotten back from yet another home that I had made in Nashville where 6 months were spent sorting out some stories of my own. I felt as though I had to pretend my story was free of uncertainties and setbacks once I was back with the people who helped me continue when I wanted my story to end. With my new friends of Vancouver, I never had to be anything. I know now that the people who had walked alongside me all those years loved me no matter what, but at the time I was just a kid trying to learn how to walk for a second time.

I looked to the city to heal me, but the city didn't know how. I quickly began to feel lost again when I started university, and with Capilano being the 7th school in 4 years graced with my semi-present state, I felt as though it was time to move on from Vancouver and the five different homes I had occupied. So when a then-current long distance boyfriend who I had been with for a year suggested I go to school in his province, I considered it. When I was rejected from UBC, told my grades were not good enough for a second year in my program at Cap, and was urged by my grandfather to go to Mount Allison, I packed up and moved 5000 kms across the country from a city of 2 million to a town of 5000. I figured that since I had been with my now ex-boyfriend for almost 2 years at that point and enjoyed the province, I could spend a year before moving on yet again. I got accepted, and 4 months later I entered the province in which I would eventually choose to plant my roots.

That was 2.5 years ago. Since then, I've never spent more than a few weeks in Vancouver, save for one 3 month summer where I realized how I had moved on from the city just as I had moved on from the relationship that took me away from her. Concrete no longer gives me an energy rush; instead, that comes from driving on an empty highway with my love beside me and Johnny Cash singing to me through my speakers. I no longer need to connect only with the broken; although I reach out whenever possible, I've learned to make eye contact as a result I've learned a conversation with a staff at the local bookstore can lead to a wonderful friendship. There's no busy grid to internalize into my body, but hay from the neighboring farms seems to always find its way onto my clothes.

I'm 21 now, and I feel like I'm only now just coming out of the mindset of my 17 year old self, constantly looking for where I belong - for home. I just came from a summer where I ventured to another new place, with a new bedroom, in a new province – but this time, I did not go to adopt a home, for it adopted me. And when the summer was over, and I had a brand new apartment to move into back in the familiar town of Sackville, I did not leave by running away – I left it with gratitude, but most importantly, I left it looking forward to the next time I would return.

That's the thing about homes left behind. You can always return – you don't have to leave forever. Home isn't one physical location, it's not simply just the place you lay your head at night. It's a combination of all the places where you've left pieces of yourself. And once I begin life after college, first in a little Ontario town and eventually on a large New Brunswick farm, I will let my roots grow deep with migrant Maritime pride - but I will water them with saltwater from the Pacific and creekwater from the Mad River, honoring all the places I will continue to return to and refer to as home.