On the day I found out my dad had a year to live, I was standing at work, typing away stupidly about something I can’t remember now. And in an instant, I was catapulted into a terrible grief I knew nothing about. Like a dark room I’d never entered, feeling my way around. Gemma called my boss, my colleagues, and my best friends. Ordering one to give me time off, to get coffee, and to buy moving boxes. In the apartment, I couldn’t even remember my own name. Gemma found my passport, called my sister and arranged a pick up, and booked my flight for the next morning. Early but not too early, because she said I needed sleep. How do I even begin to pack right now? Gemma told everyone what to do. She put on my favourite songs, Taylor Swift, whom she didn’t particularly care for, and made the executive decision to toss my near-empty shampoo bottles. We walked through a handful of outfits I’d need - certainly comfy ones - as Gemma proposed. And when I’d come back to collect my t...
I always knew I needed to get out of my hometown. It’s not that I didn’t love it, or the people, but I was outgrowing it. And I could feel the box getting tighter as I got bigger. So when I was seventeen, I left. I moved to a city eight times it’s size, lived with 3 strangers (my now best friends) and changed my entire life. It was amazing. But now it’s worn off. And suddenly...I feel claustrophobic in the space. Is it possible I outgrew this place too? I mean, I could go bigger: Vancouver, Toronto, New York maybe? But would I outgrow that too? As I started to feel the new wearing off, I immediately looked for a new place to go. Now I’m here, in this new place, and it still doesn’t feel right. I feel in the way of other people’s lives, and more importantly, not on the path of my own. I do this. I bounce around, from place to place, person to person, hobby to hobby, and after a period of time, I get this overwhelming urge to change things. And so I leave peo...