A Long trip Alone.

It was around 9:00 PM when we were scrounging around inside the shed. I can’t even remember what we were searching for, summer tire, my cross-country bike, perhaps? The moving truck wasn’t even close to full, but whatever item it was in that backyard shed on Ogden Road represented the last physical evidence of that part of my life. Five years in fact. The side gate was left open for ease of accessing the moving truck and so the neighbours were able to easily peek into the yard. “You guys are moving!?” They quite ecstatically observed. “Ah, well, one of us is...” Dusk didn’t serve well enough to protect their surprised and uncomfortable reactions as the realization hit them. Perhaps it was my embarrassment that I could see mirrored in their faces.

We were at work scrolling through a colleague’s phone when her add popped up on the local town classified. She’s selling everything. Two couches, a saddle, a Carhart Jacket, the kitchen table and the definition of domestication: the Kitchen Aid. We were all asking, where was she was going?

It was my little sister who gracefully informed my family and friends that my relationship status turned to single, and I really appreciated that gesture. In the small town that we grew up in, she answered all of the questions around my heartbreak and what turn of events lead to the demise of my relationship and my oh so secured future. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell the town that raised me that all they desired for their children, including my sisters and I, and all that they had worked towards for themselves - the committed relationship, the two bedroom house, the two dogs - wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to see their reactions as they too came to realize the future of security, a ring, a white dress and perhaps a positive pregnancy test, or two, that I was giving up.

She’s a few years younger than me, the girl with the add posted online selling the entirety of her life, possession by possession. Previously she spent some months in Australia and with that, as all travelers do, four weeks in Thailand. We had beers one night as I picked her brain on where she went in Thailand and she provided me with some ideas for my Asian Adventure. At the pub we swapped travel tales of Oz and South America and what traveling did for us and did to us. 

In between talking about her eight or so months in the Outback, she told me about her purchased farmhouse, two horses and long term boyfriend. During a few run-ins in town, I even thought I glimpsed the glitter of an engagement ring. The heaviness on women’s left hand is something I’ve recently been keeping track of; I wanted to know if the weight was felt on their hearts, too. That night, over beers in a rundown pub, her ring finger was naked and she seemed feather light. The only glitter came from her eyes. We never talked about her steady job at a reputable company, but both of us knew she was taking it for granted and quickly burning bridges. 

Choosing to give up the comfortable routine for this nomadic lifestyle was one of the biggest life decision’s I’ve ever made. And as T-Swift questions, "Wondering if I dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life?". Packing up the entirety of my life, possession by possession, most of which still remain in their boxes in the rafters of my mom’s garage, was the beginning of opting for travel over love. I’ve sacrificed so much of who I could have been, and I’ve always been honest with this blog, at times, this life of mine can be a long trip alone. 

Right before I left rumors circulated that she’d ended her relationship and I knew a month or so before hearing this that she was no longer employed. I ran into her at a grocery store and gave her a sloppy, knowing hug. She confirmed that her relationship status turned to single. In the small town that she grew up in, she answered all of the questions around her heartbreak, but she didn’t need to tell me what turn of events lead to the demise of her relationship and her, oh so secured future. I knew that ultimately it was the craving of a Nomadic Lifestyle. And with that, she chose travel over love.

For me, it one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. It was also the most invigorating and the most empowering. I’m living life exactly how I want. And although the idea of a log cabin on a plot of land with a boy and a garden of my very own sounds incredibly tempting, there’s the Merry Blueberry Farm in Ontario owned by Arlene, I met during a meditation retreat in Thailand, and I want to check out for a season or two. Spain is calling my name, specifically the Camino. London (Bristol), too. Then there’s New Brunswick. And on and on. 

I hope she gets enough value from selling the entirety of her life, possession by possession, to get the hell out of her small town and all those questions of curiosity and care that surround and stifle her. Once you choose the long trip alone the options get simpler: Southeast Asia or South America, Ontario or New Brunswick, Travel or Love?

Kirstin

Advice from a blue eyed small town girl.

Melancholy in the Air

After my first three day work week, I concluded that with a five month leave, coming back to work was like riding a bike. Like a really big motorbike where I’m not really comfortable shifting and I’m riding it unnervingly fast.  With the job, I realized that I remember only enough of the details to know that I needed to know allot more than I do. On top of that, with The Other Girl going on leave, I have a little over two weeks to relearn it all. No pressure, Kirstin. Getting back into longer work days was easier said than done. From adrenaline learning and being out of any sort of routine, I’m exhausted by the end of the day.

We’re all unpacked and settled in the Log Cabin and I find myself unable to remain still over the weekend. I felt like a dog with a constant urge to pace back and forth across the lament cabin floor eager to busy and interactive, but wanting to stay away from people.  I wanted to be doing something, but I was unsure of what, so I was left feeling gloomy and restless. I’m homesick for Asia. I missed the messy navigation through streets of Chiang Mai to get to my morning yoga class. I craved the chatter of new roommates in my eight-plus person Hostel. Admittedly, it’s been really difficult sleeping in The Log Cabin with only Hugo and I. I think we’re both a little unsure of this situation. I’m nostalgic for  my favorite street food venders. Hell, I miss the shock of a stench hitting my nostrils while walking to get coffee in Old Town.  I’m lonely for some travel understanding. I want to swap stories of Asia, not just narrate one-sided tales.

My sister and her family came to see Hugo and I and we spent some time outside. While the girls were playing in the snow Megan asked me if I’m even a little bit happy to home. It took everything to hold back my tears. I know I am where I need to be, and I’ve never been so welcomed back into a community by friends and family, but the adjustment process is so much harder than I realized. I didn’t think there would be much adjusting. I mean, I chose the ‘hoof; I wanted to be back here for another year. So why am I longing to be elsewhere?

I’m a rather active person. But being that I came home around the should seasons of winter coming into spring and between the mood swings of the weather, too cold to run but only leftover snow remained for cross-country skiing, my outdoor activities were limited. Hugo and I did the best we could, but it wasn’t providing those endorphins I so desperately needed. So I signed up for a Wednesday night yoga class. 

 

The instructor discussions of closing pelvic floor and connecting your bandhas in her breathy voice left me rolling my eyes. Instructions came in a pillow-talk voice, and it was a little heavy on the crunchy granola side, even for this hippy.

But little by little, the poses were being held longer started getting harder. Suddenly I wasn’t merely in the basement-transitioned yoga studio in small town, BC. I was back in Asia. I was holding a Plank in Indonesia with my 68 year old instructor who still kicked my ass in each of the four classes I took there. Sweat was dripping off of me as I struggled in Utkatasana (Chair Pose), being directed by the very Hung Over American instructor with smudgy-eyes in Laos. I was failing at the dancers pose with my seven days of yoga in Cambodia. I performed my final round of Sun Salutation by the dreamy Tatted up Australian in Thailand. Transitioning into Savasana (Corpse Pose), I placed a tiny lavender scented bean-bang over my e yes and was transported back to the ‘Hoof. I took yoga at this studio pre-Asia the smell of lavender coming from the eye-pillow provided me with memories of Bushbabes, campfires, nieces, runs on the Bearhead Rd, drinks at the Reid, Gilmore Girl theme songs and fabulously silly work moments.

I’ve signed up for some more yoga classes. I secretly appreciate the pillow-talk and hippy vibes at this basement yoga studio. For an hour and a half, it felt so good to stretch and work my muscles. I’m even hoping to make some more yoga friends here.  

At work near the end of the day I was discussing a possible pay issue and nonchalant looking into our payroll system to find the source. It all came so natural to me, I mentioned to my boss that at that very moment, it felt like I never left this small town. It was a strange but slightly comforting sensation. I know it’s going to take more time to transition back into Aduting in Canada. It occurred to me while cross-country skiing with Hugo that I was off work and on another continent for almost half a year. A five month vacation. 

My good friend and bean-counter colleague told me that Grandpa, her husbands’ seventy-something father has is seeing Doris. “Grandpa has a girlfriend?” I repeated in shock. “Jesus, I need to get back on that horse”.

Givin’ it a go,

Kirstin

Almost belonging everywhere, not quite belonging anywhere.