Remember me?

Hey you. It’s been a while.

Last time we spoke, I was one month into my Canadian adventure. Would you believe me if I told you it’s now been 21 months since I packed my life up and moved halfway across the world?

Well, I can’t believe it.

I have so much to tell you and so little all at once. I guess it’s the price I pay for having abandoned my blog for nearly two years. But there’s something more to say for living in these precious moments without Morgan Freeman narrating every second.

You’ve been in my thoughts (I promise), I’ve just not quite been ready to pour my heart – even now I’m hesitant. I do, however, want to share some wisdom with you.

A few years ago, I was missing something.

Not necessarily travel, adventure, love; all of these things were (and still are) present.

I was without myself, so incredibly vacated and detached from my core that you could’ve hung a “For Sale” sign around my neck advertising for anything to fill the empty shell that was my body and I still would have been oblivious.

I’m pretty good at keeping things to myself, but this time I was so hollow and I had kept my cards so close to my chest that I’d pushed them right through my fragile body. Anyone could see them if they turned around for a double-take.

I never realised the power and also the vulnerability of our beautiful brains until things got kinda tough in my family. In hindsight, I think my brain was trying to protect me from reality. It meant well, I know, but it tried so hard to distract me from the situation that it created an even worse one in my mind.

I was fucked up for the longest time.

There were whispers (maybe dulled screams) of my past self echoing in the back of my mind, but there was a stronger one – stronger than Morgan Freeman’s – in the foreground, demanding every opportunity be seized to destroy any trace of me.

But one night, I broke. The dulled screams were cranked up to 11 and piercing wails rang through my ears. I could feel clawing beneath my skin. I was sitting next to Dad in the garage of my grandparent’s place when I crumbled, crying and confessing (to him or myself, I’m not sure) that I was out of control.

I’ve never felt as weak as the time I stopped nourishing my body and began overworking it to the bone, tormenting it until I was literally halved.

As I’m sure most people in the world do, I wish I could visit to the person I was back then. I would hold her, assure her there is happiness to come.

Pure, intrinsic, all-encompassing happiness. The kind that brings tears to your eyes and makes the hair on your arms stand up. The kind that makes you sigh in the mountain air and smile because you’re alive.

I guess hindsight’s 20:20, hey?

Here’s my present setting: July 2018 in Canmore, Alberta, Canada.

It’s a rainy Tuesday which kinda sucks for hiking, so I’m not doing that right now. I’ve done quite a few of those in past weeks, including: a 9-hour hike with two nights camping and a helicopter ride back; a short hike by Lake Louise to a tea house with hummus sandwiches amongst beautiful scenery; a journey through the woods to a lake and a sighting of a Mumma Grizzly Bear with her two cubs.

But it’s all good I’m not outside today, because there’s still a mound of coffee to be consumed before I go to work later on. I’m sitting in my favourite cafe in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, thinking about how I need to go move my car in a minute as I’ve been bumming around town for about three hours now.

Summer is awesome, but I do have a little itch to get out and snowboard again. I’m not sure when the next time will be. I’m pondering how I’m going to occupy the next three months before I head to Europe where I’ll start all over again, again. I’m sad to be leaving this place which I now unthinkingly refer to as home. I’m denying the thought of leaving my new family behind. I’m gonna have to start using the word “beanie” or “hat” instead of “toque”. There’s no “toonies” outside of this beautiful bubble.

But you know what? I’m so fucking lucky.

Aside from having the option and privilege to go wherever I please and whenever I wish, as well as a very fortunate country to return to if things turn sour, I am pretty damn happy and pretty damn healthy. There’s a lot of awful things in this world. A lot of ways people misleadingly think they need to live, a lot of people trapped in their own minds, a lot of people living in poverty and sadness – the list of terrible things is infinite.

Things are good for me. If you don’t believe they can be good for you, too, I promise you that your time will arrive.

Go out and find it.

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