The past is a country you can never return to

I'm officially Canadian!! - well, actually, I'm a Permanent Resident, but that's pretty good. It that means within weeks I can drive, receive healthcare, and work in Canada. And in a couple years, I can become a citizen, too. Valentine's Day I got the letter marking the end of an 11-month phase of waiting, dreaming, resting, and establishing myself as a wife, community member, and Torontonian. Now, I'll be able to complete the final chapter of my life here, which is finding a job.  I'm super excited to start making money again, to plan our honeymoon, and do simple stuff like go out to eat more and really experience Toronto, this amazing city.

Perhaps it was the finality of it which brought on my sharp stab of homesickness today. Or perhaps it's that a new year is beginning, and moving into the future requires leaving something else behind. I'd been homesick before, but I wasn't prepared for the loss of a certain kind of closeness that comes when you live in the same towns, frequent the same restaurants and stores, and know the same people as your friends. Being in a person's home and just sipping tea or watching TV is a superb way of getting to know who they are, and what life is like for them. This level of closeness feels lost, particularly with my parents. I can't just pop over anymore. And that's really tough.

There's another level, too - that even if I were to move back home someday, it wouldn't be the same as what I left behind. When you live somewhere continuously, sure, everyone changes, but it's slow and you almost don't notice it. But when you leave and ocme back - as I've already done - the return is never quite what you expected. Businesses have closed, new ones have opened (Kent, I'm talkin' to you), people have moved on or started new phases of their lives, like having kids or going back to school. The "scene" you miss isn't the same scene, and there's no way of catching up, because, well, you weren't there. So there's really no going back, and no place to be except the present.

Also, I've changed. I think about my aunt, who moved to Colorado with her husband, lived there for 15 years, and then moved to Los Angeles. She keeps in touch with the family, but the fact is that her life is kind of a mystery to us. She belongs to another world, and now, so do I.

Sean has always told me that I'm a "country girl" at heart. I chuckle at that, since it's based on his rosy view of Ohio as the "country." But in fact, I'm from Northeast Ohio, which is kind of better: I'm from world-class schools, post-industrial economic rebirth, corn on the cob, and the Burning River. A corner of Ohio that's just as sophisticated as it is relaxing. And I love that. So I don't mind Sean calling me a country girl - he's never forgotten that I came from Ohio, and maybe that will help me remember who I am.

Isn't there some kind of saying - "you can't take the country out of a country girl...?" Yeah... that seems true. When you're getting used to something, it can seem to consume your entire identity, but there comes a point when you remember who you were before. I may be a Toronto girl now - knowing how to find the best food, the best museums, how to ride the subway without losing my balance - but I'll always be a girl who shopped at Beckwiths Orchard and hopped around sandstone cliffs at Kendall Ledges. I'll always know how to shuck corn into a paper bag, how to find a great sweater at the VD, and how to smalltalk with the folks back home. And I can count on them welcoming me back, and doing what they can to make me feel at home. I think I can count on that.

Sometimes when I feel homesick I go to my suitcase and get out the little stash of American money I keep, leftover from the last trip. It's the pennies that get me - we don't have pennies here, so  when I hold a penny, it's like a piece of America in my hand. Of course, holding American money also makes me think about our national debt, our problems with consumerism and all the stuff that makes me ambivalent about being American - but damn, I miss the States. Not because I think it's the greatest country in the world (though it is great, in many ways), but because it's my home. In a way my American money is like the past, as it's really only a symbol for something else. You can't eat money, and you can never return to the past. I can only try to be in the present, and realize that the legs that climbed on redwoods and waded in Blue Hen Falls, are the same legs that can ride the TTC subway without stumbling. I've been shaped and molded by so many places, so many relationships, and yet, I'm still myself.

Being apart from my family is sometimes like having a limb cut off. Sorry to be gross, but they're part of me, because throughout my life, they shaped and molded me like clay. As teenagers, we resent our families for that - but if you wants to get over that, I'd suggest moving away. Move to a place where you can't come home, and then repeat that, until you realize - wow, they're not trying to mold me - it just happens. And it's time that I choose to mold my own life - to choose who I am, what I do, who I hang out  with, and above all, what is home. Being away from them, I realize how lucky I am to have the option to come home - to come home for fresh corn, leaf-raking, coffee on the porch - for what keeps me feeling like me, as I move into this new country, into the present.

Cold Plunge: Anchoring in the New

As I mentioned in a previous post, there's nothing like winter to make you hunker down and just be with what is. Having survived the Ice Storm of '13 (not so bad for me, I'm a snow-belt girl) and the Polar Vortex (hardly a show-stopper in Canada), I'm still much more stunned by the emotional aspects of winter. Vast expanses of glistening ice coating thousands of cat-tails; stark contrasts of white snow against dingy brown grass, seem to highlight the sense of distance from summer, and from places you'd like to go, like home. But they also command attention to the simple beauty of what exists in front of your nose. Freshly baked ginger cookies, visiting friends at home, faces flushed with cold and laughter.

But then, you also have that January urge to re-create your entire world, or at least, improve upon it. For me, January has called me to begin my work as Communications Chair at my church. So far, I am managing the communications (web and print) for a fundraising event in May, and have some other responsibilities coming up. It's been awesome to finally have something to work on, and feel the sense of contribution I've been missing. Last week I met the committee in person, and put in about 2 hours/day on a project.

While it's great to have a sense of routine, I've been feeling a little burnt out on all the newness I've created. After all, I've already had several fresh starts in my life, and moving Toronto wasn't the smallest of them. In addition to adjusting to metropolitan, car-less living, and meeting new people, I also decided to throw in a career change. True to form, I assumed that switching to the Communications field would be easy, since I have a degree in English and some related experience. But as it turns out, and as I should have known, any career change can feel like biting off more than you can chew. That's why I'm keeping my mind open to ways that I can integrate mental health, writing, and teaching into a career that will make sense for me.

When I came to Toronto, I had this feeling that somehow all the various strands of my life would weave together into a cohesive whole. In fact I hoped they would - because looking back, I've lived so many places, and had so many jobs, and I finally wanted to settle down. I didn't really feel a need to re-invent myself, but rather to be who I'd been all along. Instead of going into the "great unknown", I wanted to dig deeper, and unearth a career/life that would fit me perfectly, maybe even permanently. Fortunately, I've had this break from work, and a cozy little sanctuary that is our apartment, looking out over Toronto. So even though I get homesick and stir-crazy, I've taken time to weave the seemingly disparate strands together into a life. I've been writing, looking through photos, going over the colors and textures of the past for clues to the future.

In my post Adventures in Renaissance Personhood, I listed all the jobs I'd had and courses I'd ever taken. Many times I've looked back at my life and thought it was pretty disjointed. I sort of beat myself up for being the kind of person who's had the privilege to explore anything, but rarely followed through. I sometimes think, well, even if I choose a new direction, how do I know it will last? But the thing I realized, is that the directions I've taken were not random. From massotherapy to music, they were all ways of answering questions I had - about myself, about the world. And now, looking through those memories and experiences, I have my answers. It's my own personal treasure trove of wisdom. My one wild and precious life.

So in the deep cold of winter, in the disorienting plunge into the New, what holds you together? For me, it's playing my old songs, writing my little memoir of my 20's, and tying my knowledge of mental health in with the exciting field of neurobiology, which is answering some of the questions I've had since grad school. It's letting go of some "New Year's resolutions" that feel overwhelming (bye bye, French dictionary) and sticking firmly to the ones that help (yoga EVERY DAY - no really!). When things change we tell ourselves stories about what change should look like, how fast, and in what direction. But there's no sense pretending that anybody but me should write my own story - because after all, I'm the one with the pen.

Let the adventures begin

I’ve been unemployed in Toronto for 6 weeks now, and I’ve figured out how to fill my time.

A few weeks ago, it felt like I’d be wallowing in profound homesickness for the rest of my life. Back home I’d found my favorite yoga studio of all time, a vibrant music community, and had started building closer relationships with family members. Things seemed better than ever when I left, so naturally I’ve felt some grief. But sadness will only grow if you feed it, so I chose to distract myself by finding some good things here. And as it turns out, that's incredibly easy. Last week, upon returning from a week visiting friends and family, I delved into some new activities.

Thursday: Ecstatic dance night with friends

Friday: Sleeping off a cold, cooking, chores. Checked out a music festival downtown with Sean (transit time: 1 hour). Watched university fashion students doing a random catwalk practice after crowd dispersed.

Saturday: St. Lawrence Farmer’s Market, solo, since Sean works this weekend. Rescued an inchworm stuck to a raspberry by placing it (raspberry and all) in a flower planter. Evening: Sean drove us to friend’s house in the “country” (Markham) where we enjoyed live music, bonfire and conversation.

Sunday: Checked out UU church, met choir director and a few other folks.

Monday: potluck at a friend’s house, where we ran into a half dozen people we knew (yay!).

As you can see, there’s plenty to do in Toronto. So while I accept (despite anyone’s well-meaning opinion), that I’ve lost something by leaving the place where I first laid down roots, it would be an understatement to say that Toronto compensates for my loss. There are 10-12 festivals every single summer weekend, 3 ecstatic dance nights a week (to my knowledge), farmer’s markets everywhere (to the tune of having one at the local shopping mall), and that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Living in a city like Toronto is the kind of thing that could change you. I already feel myself becoming more optimistic, more interested in things, maybe a little more bold. Could it be because I live in one of the safest, most beautifully diverse cities in the world? Could it be the opportunities and capital out there calling my entrepreneurial spirit forth?  Could it be that I’m in love and feel grounded and supported?

Let the adventures begin.

What I’ll miss about Akron, OH

2 weeks ago, I had a mini-meltdown and decided to take a bit more time to prepare for Canada. There’s a good chance that my PR application will be approved by the end of the year, at which point I will become a "permanent resident" of Canada. So even though on paper, I'm just visiting, this is actually a permanent expatriation from the life I've grown to know and love. I'm going to Canada. To live.

I was raised in Kent, but my mother grew up nearby in Akron, and most of her family has ended up here (including me); also, most of my Ohio friends are here. But I haven't always been a hometown girl. As a senior in College, my then-boyfriend and I decided to do an exchange year in California. I studied at Humboldt State University, on the foggy redwood coast. After that delicious taste of west coast living, I went back in 2005, this time to northern Idaho. While there, I studied healing arts and my boyfriend studied literature. In 2007, I returned home to pursue my master’s degree at Kent State, and have been here ever since. Aside from the obvious ties of childhood, I've also come into my own here. I became an active member of the UU church, and got my first "real" job as a counselor. It was here that I launched myself as a singer-songwriter and performed at the Kent Stage, the farmer's market, and tons of local coffeeshops. I’ve had the chance to play with seasoned musicians and rub elbows with local celebrities who gave me advice to help me grow. I also have friends who were with me through tough times, staying by me in my weakest moments, and celebrating me in my strongest ones.

Truly, it seems insane to leave here. The thing is, I’ve got this great husband. And he lives in Canada.

So, aside from (obviously) my friends and family, I wanted to share some Ohio-y things that I’ll miss.

• Cuyahoga Valley National Park: Akronites, we are living in one of the greenest cities that exists, and that is thanks largely to the CNVP (also to Summit MetroParks –Sand Run is literally in my backyard). We have the fortune of saying, “well, I’ve got my mall shopping done, gosh I feel like getting some air…  let me drive 10 minutes the towpath trail, then maybe pop into Szalay's for some farm-fresh corn." This is living! 
•  The Village Discount Thrift Store: I love thrifting. It makes me feel free - free of debt, free of trends, and free from the endless imperative to spend more money. Yay for the "VD"! Even after being exposed to Toronto fashion, I'm pretty sure I'll miss it.
•  Lifesource Yoga and Sacred Ground Yoga: if you’re a yogi and never been to Sacred Ground in the Valley, try it… this guy is spiritual to the core. And Lifesource is more than a great collection of teachers, it's also a welcoming community for young yogis like myself
•  Stan Hywett Hall: I have a soft spot for opulence, and every time I drive up Portage Path, I love seeing Stan Hywett on the right, protected only by an attractive 4-foot-high fence. The Seiberlings were awesome people, who worked to promote literacy, public health, and helped created Alcoholics Anonymous. Stan Hywett is available for tours from April through December. Yay for philanthropy!
•  Gabriel Brothers, Big Lots and Marc's. Enough said. 

I’m sure there’s a ton more, and I haven’t even listed each and every person in this awesome community. (Akron is blessed with a community of nice people with infinite inter-sections. It's been effortlessly easy for me to get hooked into this cozy web!) That's all for now, I've got to work on my transporter so I can be in two places at once. :)