I've lost count of the number of Friday afternoons I've driven my sensible, reliable and kind of smelly '09 Yaris up and down the Highway 11/400 corridor to Blue Sky country, through the Muskokas, into the greenbelt, and to the bustling metropoleis of Toronto and St. Catharines...then back again the following Sunday night. I could (and probably have) done it in my sleep.
I know all the best gas stations. I can gas up, pee and grab another coffee in 5 minutes or less. I've performed some epic cover shows from the comfort of the drivers seat, accompanied by an all-star back-up band of whoever's streaming from the songza playlist. I've created gourmet road snacks from the best the Bulk Barn has to offer. Hundreds of hours. Hundreds of litres of gas. Thousands of kilometres. Why?
Something or someone kept pulling my heart away. I had to follow my heart. You die without it.
But even though my heart was pulled south, sooner or later, the magnetic north would pull me back up like the pointer on a compass. The north was the first place I could call home in a decade. It was the place where I truly discovered who I am and was comfortable with the person I discovered. The north taught me that I am a wise counsellor, a talented musician, a steadfast friend and a strong and resilient person. It taught me how powerful and rewarding a sense of community and sharing can be. It taught me that a plywood shed on a frozen lake with a backpack full of beer and your snowpants on is probably more fun than the most exclusive dance club. It taught me that a friend with a guitar and a good singing voice is always better than a dj. It taught me that I can make almost anything I want with my hands. It taught me that staying warm is always better than looking good. It taught me how I liked my coffee. And most importantly it taught me that, yes Dorothy, my heart's desire was really no further than my own back yard.
And then one day, when I was living in the moment without hope or expectation, I was smacked across the face with a two-by-four of serendipity and suddenly the poles switched and the southern magnetism was stronger than before. I was pulled from the north and though it was right, it was sad and scary and stressful and not without its moments where I felt like I had taken a leap of faith only to discover I'd jumped off a cliff into a river of piranhas. I'm settled now, and about the happiest I've ever been. And that's not because I've left the north behind. I haven't. I am happy because though my heart pulled me south one final time, a little piece of it will always be with the earth, water, campfire, music, and friends that are family I have in the north and I know I will have to go back because I need that piece of my heart too.
So this is not a Dear John letter, wishing the north well when I'm gone. This is my love letter, asking it to always have a place for me; the place I end up after tracing the curves and hills of highway 11 like the lines on my palm. Thanking it for everything it's done for me. I arrived a discontented youth, draping myself in layers and layers hoping to turn into something I could be content with. I left with the confidence to bear my true, (metaphorically) naked self to the world, utterly content with who I am. I love the north because the north helped me learn to love myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment