I’ve been thinking a lot lately, mostly because I’ve actually had the time.

Exams are over, moving is done. I have one more week of school-free bliss before jumping right back into the fray of courses, essays, midterms, assignments, and work… lots and lots of work.

I live on my own now. It’s a completely unique experience. I’ve gone from living in a full house to living in my own space. I love my place.

I went back to my parent’s house for dinner last night and I walked into the house, as I still have my key, and things felt different. Nothing has changed, nothing is out of place, but it felt completely different. I sat in the kitchen and despite the familiarity I almost felt like a stranger. I lived in that house for fifteen years, I outgrew my childhood there and have had more ‘firsts’ than I can count, but it still didn’t feel like home anymore.

Does my new place feel like home? I’m not quite sure. I got used to it ridiculously fast, and I’m certainly comfortable here, but is it home?

I’m not sure what home is supposed to feel like anymore. Of course I must address the cliched, “home is where the heart is,” but again I have to pick that apart. Literally my heart is wherever I am, but I don’t think that’s right. Metaphorically my heart is with my loved ones, but I don’t feel like they’re my home. When I’m around them I feel loved, but it’s different than feeling at home.

Will I ever feel at home again? One of my favourite lines from Zach Braff’s Garden State is: 

You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone… it just sort of happens one day and it’s gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It’s like you feel homesick for a place that doesn’t even exist. Maybe it’s like this right of passage, you know. You won’t ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it’s like a cycle or something. I don’t know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.

I never really understood that prior to my move. I found it profound when I first heard it at fifteen, but clearly it needs work. It still has a pang of truth to it, despite its awkward delivery.

So I leave you wondering what home really is, and whether or not I might ever feel it again, or if I ever did feel it in the first place. It’s a wonder what you lose as an adult that you clung so emphatically to as a child. We were so certain of everything we knew, or thought we knew. Everything was the end all be all until something new came along and that became the new everything. Sometimes as an adult I’m so frustrated by the knowledge that I know almost nothing and that no matter how much knowledge I attempt to accumulate it will never be sufficient enough for me to claim that I know even one thing.

So, I’ll keep questioning and keep wondering.

Friday’s Misadventure

So, ladies and gentlemen, I had myself a almost movie misadventure last night.

I was headed off downtown with my dear friend (who will be known from here on in as Chickadee) to watch her younger brother preform in an artistic show case for youth held by Art Quake. I’m all dolled up, wearing a comfortable yet cute cotton black dress and these lovely wedge heals that I had purchased weeks before but I did not have the chance to wear them until last night. I felt very feminine and lovely, which is rare for me.

So, we set out down the hill from Chickadee’s house to the skytrain. Now, I’m not much one for walking in heals, but I managed with only a few mis-steps that caused a slight tumble, and only ever on my right leg (the one with my bad ankle, go figure). As we approach the skytrain I hear the heal of my shoe dragging on the the ground, but I’m not dragging my feet, I’m lifting them with a little more vigour than normal to keep up with Chickadee and avoid a face plant. I look down, and my heal IS dragging on the ground because low and behold the wedge part of my show has detached at the heal from the part wrapped around my foot! 

This kind of thing NEVER happens in real life?! At least, that was my first thought. I felt like a girl in a really bad chick flick! I was waiting for a random modern-day prince charming to come out of the wood work and carry me to the nearest shoe repair, pay for the repairs and then take me out for a drink. But, no such luck.

So, Chickadee and I have a bit of a giggle over the absurdity of this shoe-dilemma. I shuffle onto the skytrain and as we need to transfer trains, at the transfer station there is a Shopper’s Drug Mart. Salvation! I shuffle on in and we buy some krazy-glue. This has to work right! I tell the cashier what it’s for and almost ominously she says, “That’s probably not going to work.” Chickadee and I dismiss her and continue back into the skytrain station and glue my shoe back together. Success! I may have glued it on a little crooked, but hey, I saved my cute shoes. So, we get on our second train and I am relieved that I wont have to worry about my shoe any longer!

Or, so I thought. As we’re making out way to the venue for the show, I trip and feel utterly stupid for not being able to walk in heals (because all women should be able to right?). But oh no, it wasn’t me. The shoe whose heal only came off has now lost the entire wedge bottom! I curse, and sit myself down in the middle of the downtown sidewalk, in a dress and begin to glue my shoe back together again.

I’m fed up. Now, begins the emergency shop for shoes. This I have never had to do. Shoe shopping was always because I wanted shoes, not because I needed shoes. I feel so terrible for detouring out night, and that Chickadee has to be dragged along on this ridiculous errand.

Luckily, it’s summertime and shoe stores are open late. We walk into the first shoe store and I go through 4 pairs before I find the ones that are to be the salvation of my night. I figured if I have to buy shoes, they may as well be ones I’ll wear again and that match my dress. (Yes, I’m girly some of the time, sorry gentlemen readers.)

This, is the end of my misadventure. But it was an interesting experience. This things always seem like something that would only happen in a bad comedy. Well folks, it’s apparently a real life occurrence! Surprisingly, I got through all of this with a good sense of humour about the whole thing. I think that that is, in part, due to Chickadee who is good company and never gets upset over life.

The morals of my misadventure? Expect the unexpected. Art imitates life. A good friend goes a long way. Shoes today, gone tomorrow.

Hats off to my cliches.