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Published: November 1st 2013
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It's almost unbelievable to think of how fast time goes by. It's true what they say. In fact, most things are true if
they say it. But truly, time flies when you are having fun. Time just flies, like the birds that seem to drift over wide bodies of water, seemingly ambling on a pillow of air. And then they are gone. And you realized how fleeting their sweet flight was, how fleeting all of our flights are. And it becomes so difficult to amble, to float on the breeze, once you know.
But here it has been years since I have contributed to this blog, and I look back at these entries (after shaking my head at the complete lack of editing and attention to detail I managed to consistently administer) feeling as if I am looking at the shimmer on the water of birds that have long since departed from waters of my life. The trace is there. I can still tell the stories as proof that I have, in fact, led an interesting life. But the stories are from another life time. And I am already a much different person.
Now we are in Peachland. I
am typing at my very own desk in my very own "writing room" in "my very own" rented home with its very own yard and fruit trees and baby swing. And I am happy. And I am finally finding that elusive sensation that is known as feeling "at home". It is strange, really, to think of how long it has taken to find it.
When I left home originally to travel abroad my intention was to find adventure and to find myself. I'm not exactly sure what that means, or meant to me at the time, but suffice it to say that I did not feel entirely comfortable in my own skin or the direction my life was going before I left, and intended to reroute my path and get to know the person I felt was hidden underneath the expectations of others that only knew me within the context of a young life lived in a small town. And I succeeded in this. I liked the person I met, though we had some rough patches in our progress of getting to know one another (I say this like I am two people, but for those of you who
know me...or any other Geminis, for that matter...this is very much the case). And I set my path in a direction I was comfortable with, and excited by.
But things tumble forward in ways you don't expect. My plan to go abroad was not prefaced by any notion of returning to a place I started from. I wanted to avoid things that I felt were pitfalls of the lives around me - mainly my mother's. Before leaving for Korea I had gone to a psychic, as a lark more than anything, who, among other things, told me I didn't have to worry. I wouldn't end up like my mother. To which I breathed a huge sigh of relief, not having any clear idea of what that was supposed to mean, but assuaged nonetheless. In hindsight, I believe this to have meant that I would not end up married at the age of 20 and destined to live what I thought at the time was an uninspired life. Husband. Kids. Family trips to family resorts. Gardening. Reality TV (wait, that came later).
Life is a running joke, sometimes. As soon as my feet landed back on Canadian soil, one
thing led quickly to another which propelled me right toward a life that, in so many words, parallels the exact life I sought to run away from. I sort of met a guy at a bar (my mother met my father at a bar as well - broken nose and married, albeit, but you get the idea), who moved himself in, and proposed a year later, and no sooner did we climb out of our matrimonial clothes did we have a little baby in our arms. And with a husband out of town on and off through our first year of parenthood, I was juggling a lifestyle that my mother had already been through not thirty years prior. And, *gulp*, I dare say it was heaven.
Or is heaven. I shouldn't get too far ahead of myself. These are the years you are supposed to hang on to. after all. So I'm not living in an ashram in the Himalayas. So I'm not saving sea turtles from extinction in Costa Rica or leading kayak expeditions and running a tiny B&B in the Galapagos (an invitation I still cringe at turning down). And some of the fellow travelers I was fortunate enough to share that adventurous time of my life with are still "living the life", backpacking the globe, frolicking in music-filled forests on the weekends, dancing in the sand in the middle of the night. And it's hard, sometimes, to know this when I can't leave my own house after 7 pm. Every. Single. Day. Knowing this doesn't change the exquisite magic that is being a mother and a wife. Creating a beautiful home and lifestyle from scratch without the assistance of unfamiliar settings and exotic faces is an art, and a meaningful one. And it is a skill I am honored enough to have the opportunity to hone day after day.
I shouldn't take all the credit for the magic in my life these days. I do live in paradise. How we got here, I'm not exactly sure. Like I said, sometimes in life you tumble into today, and that's certainly how I feel when I walk along the lake outside my front door in the early hours of sun, baffled by my good fortune to be here. For I am still traveling, still making magic in every moment of my life. The geography I explore might not be as far reaching as it once was from my point of origin, but at this point that doesn't matter. There will be more exotic trips in my future. And they will take on a whole new meaning through the eyes of my partner and my children. But for now, waking up to this incredible landscape and meeting happy faces along my walks that
do speak my language is just the kind of adventure I need.
And there are always my stories. And really, what else is there? Stories, and the sensations at hand.
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