Thursday, January 29, 2015

The Verge Of It All

Your life is an open road map of pins and destinations that you can never fathom. The pit stops that end up becoming homes will blow your mind.

For a long time, I was convinced that I'd never live close to Ottawa. It wasn't for lack of trying, mind you, but pomp and circumstance kept me away from my away from my beloved childhood haunt. For many years, I dwelled in a hazy existence of anxiety, pining and un-love. I wasn't alive. I longed to be somewhere else constantly. I walked across a bridge that led into downtown Saint Catharines for three straight years on my way to my call centre job, and I longed to be refreshed in the deep green water below the city. I even haphazardly thought about jumping into it a few times - just to see if I could break the barrier of sound and sense. I was locked up. Imprisoned by myself. But that was 2004-2007...and so skipping a few chapters, for the last year and a half, I've been privileged enough to spend long chunks of time shucking off the roads of the golden Lanark County that surrounds the capital of Canada.

The golden glow of these lands is something to be astounded by - it harkens and harrows. It pulls you close to listen to the stories of fine folks that populate it. It's sad and it's unique and it's gorgeous.

I don't know what I would do without country drives. I've basically worn a groove in the 416 between Ottawa and Kemptville over the past 18 months. And to be true, I am thankful for all of it. Every shorn piece of tire. I am grateful for every goop of gas I've sent into the atmosphere, because I've made some amazing friends, connections and beginnings in that place and in the tiny overlooked towns of this life.

My existence has changed quite drastically since those frantic days of harboured guilt and disdain, but I still have insecurities. And lost wishes. And hurt. And hatred. And hunger.

But I shall truck on - here in the smallest big city in the world.

Tonight, in an effort to help my parents clean out some of my childhood possessions, I found a card envelope that was obviously penned by my deceased grandma Betty, but with no adjoining card. Immediately, I felt sad and happy - and I searched for the card and never found it.

Betty was the best person in the world, and I miss her like hell.

And somehow I knew that despite all of my destitute searching and missing her, that I am right where I need to be - and right on the cusp and the verge of whatever needs to happen.

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