New Beginnings & Old Dreams

Somehow, it seems the older you get the faster the days fly by. Tomorrow is the last class of my undergraduate degree, and in one month I'll be walking across the stage to get my diploma. The past few months have been filled with long winters and record snowfalls, joyous family reunions and sorrowful last minute flights to a beloved family member's funeral, the stress of a senior year workload and the joyful fear that comes from thinking of life beyond school. My apartment lease expires in 20 days, and then I will no longer be living in this little maritime town, a place that has cradled me through some of the most difficult yet most triumphant years of my life.

Sometimes I feel like I'm always leaving, and this particular move comes with mixed feelings. New Brunswick was a great escape to me, and although I hope to be back, if there's one thing I've learned these past few years it's that nothing is for certain. I've spent the last few days looking back on things I wish I did and things I regret, but mostly, reminding myself that I beat the odds and that I'm on my way to a new adventure. I'll find my way, regardless of the town. They say your heart will lead you home, and while I'm not sure where it's pointing just yet I trust I'll find out eventually. I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that it's okay not to know all the answers.

Last night my love and I went for a walk through town together, reminiscing on the past few years and reliving memories. These photos were taken only a 5 minute walk from campus - going to university in a rural area provides a very different experience than the traditional big city campus. The divide between wealthy students and lower income townspeople is very apparent, and it provides for some really interesting interactions between people as well as architecture. The lighting in the night seemed to fit the mood perfect - the light pushed through the clouds, just as it always does, and as the snow melted into the street I took a deep breath and reminded myself that everything would work out to be alright.

Sunday morning coffee playlist

Country oldies have been my favourite genre of music lately and I find that they sound best in the morning over coffee. No matter how rough or pleasant of a Sunday morning you've been having, these (mostly) old crooning boys will serenade you alongside your coffee as the sun shines through your window. Even if country isn't usually your thing, you might just find that these songs compliment a headache, black coffee and greasy food just fine.

listen here: http://rd.io/x/Rl5afPcvLu03/

5 lessons the mountains can teach us

I grew up with the mountains. My first childhood home was in a valley, nestled snugly between several nameless peaks offering plenty of forested creeks to frolic in, while my second home was on the mountainside, high above the Pacific Ocean. Living amongst their beauty has lead me to believe that there are many things the mountains have to teach us, if we only take the time to watch and listen. As important as good council is in life, sometimes we need only to return to the earth to learn what we need to know.

we must stand strong during times of adversity

Mountains consistently face threats in the form of climate change, construction, forced demolition, over-grazing and logging; yet still strong they stand, a symbol of immobility for thousands of years. When times get difficult, often our first instinct is to crumble; to curl up in bed and stay there for a while, ignoring the problems around us. However, this does not allow for betterment for either yourself nor the problem. If you can stand strong, hold fast, and face adversity and your problems head on, you will be able to find healing and determination, giving yourself hope rather than giving yourself feelings of defeat and hopelessness that come with falling down and admitting defeat. 

often the most beautiful pursuits are the most dangerous

Growing up surrounded by ski hills, I often was greeted in the morning by newspaper headlines informing me of late night helicopter searches for hikers and skiers who had gone missing after venturing off trail to explore the mountain. If they were lucky enough to be found, they usually explained to the media that they simply wanted to see more of the mountain's beauty... but that the mountain's beauty was more dangerous than they had fathomed. Often the things in life that look the most attractive  - be it fame, riches or power - come with pitfalls that are easy to fall into if you are not aware of their existence. It is important for you to follow your dreams, but it is even more important to be on the lookout for pits that may cause you to stumble at the top. You want to enjoy the fruits of your hard work - don't allow them to be your downfall.

it is important to provide for others

When it rains, mountains are the first to receive the life giving water - yet they do not keep it for themselves. They retain enough to sustain their flora and fauna, and then they allow the rest of the water to flow down the hills and nourish the remaining ecosystems, villages and cities. When I lived in Vancouver, I got in the habit of keeping granola bars in my purse to give to anyone who lived on the streets that was hungry. I was working at the time, so I could afford the extra little expense. A granola bar was a small amount of food to me, yet it was possible it was the only food another person would eat all day. Similarly, there are probably things that you can do in life that may take a little from your resources, but give a lot to those who are in need. If a mountain kept all the rain for itself, not only would the land below dry up - the mountain would flood from all the excess.

the best surprises often pass us by

I have been fortunate enough to drive through the Rocky Mountains several times. Each drive takes my breath away, but there have been several times where spectacular moments occurred. Not long ago, my family and I were driving on the highway when we saw a grizzly bear cub right on the side of the road, observing the cars passing it by. We drove by slowly, marveling at the organic sight. Another time, we saw bighorn sheep fighting by ramming their giant horns at each other. We pulled over and watched, listening to the sound like thunder echoing throughout the mountains. Life is like the Rockies - there are beautiful surprises waiting for you. However, they are easy to miss. If you are prone to going through life plugged in with headphones on and eyes glued to your devices, try looking up once in a while to see what you may be missing. There is beauty in the everyday.

we must adapt to change

Although mountains are often considered stationary, they are constantly changing and shifting. The Appalachian Range used to be the tallest mountain range in the world, and now the highest Appalachian is only 3,000 feet tall due to environmental factors such as erosion. Yet these mountains, though different than before, are no less beautiful. The world today is changing in faster and in different ways than ever before. New technologies are being introduced. Tragedies are occurring at constant rates. Scientific discoveries are teaching us more about our world everyday. It seems as though the only constant anymore is change itself and the insecurities that come with it. While it may seem tempting to resist all news and live dependent on the information one wants to believe is stagnant, that fear will keep one from growing as a person. The world may be changing, but if we can adapt, we too can still live well and beautifully, letting time and experience soften our hardest ridges.

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.