I hate packing.
Case and point: I am sitting in Starbucks sipping a $2.09 coffee while two new suitcases lie at home, sprawled open on the bed and floor of my bedroom. The wrapping is still on the handles and there are reminders that they once lived at Sears still in the bottom of the case, yet there are purses and hats and accessories and one hoodie thrown carelessly into them. I spent three days deciding what DVDs and TV box sets I was going to bring in my travel CD case, and took another four to put the empty cases back on the shelf. There is a large box with a blanket in the bottom sitting on the floor of my living room, next to which is my jewelry box and iPod dock station ready to be wrapped in the packing foam that is currently acting as a rug for my cat.
I am leaving for Ottawa (henceforth referred to as "The Capital" as an homage to The Hunger Games because I am a neeeerd) in 8 days! That is soon. I realized how soon it was when my parents came into my room as I was "packing" last night and started talking about the idea of "missing me." Also, Millie the cat has realized that I am leaving - she knows what suitcases mean - and she has been mopey and clingy, following me everywhere I go for the past week.
People have asked me if I'm excited or nervous or sad to leave. To be honest, I am all of these things. But I also feel really good about and really ready for this move.
I can only compare this relocation to my one other big move, when I first left Newfoundland for British Columbia - and the reason I started this blog. When I left for Vancouver, I wasn't really healthy emotionally or mentally, I don't think. I was heartbroken; I was panicky after finishing an Arts degree with no further plans; I was ready to live on my own; I was afraid to stay in St. John's without my sister living at home; I was exhausted from some intense friendship burnouts. I just wanted out. I do not regret my 9 months in BC: I learned a lot, met some of my best friends, travelled, and lived on my own in a big city. But I went to BC thinking the city would fix me. Spoiler alert: it didn't.
Coming home was hard. It was hard working full time for the first time in my entire life, feeling like a failure for leaving UBC, feeling directionless and unaccomplished, feeling alone and envious because many of my friends had moved on to new places and exciting adventures. But I needed this year at home to do some thinking and praying. I needed counselling and healing. I needed to spend lots of time questioning and searching, finding out what I really wanted for my life instead of mucking about, hoping I'd someday recieve some mystical enlightenment.
And it is with this newfound perspective on life that I leave home again. I have spent quality time on myself these past 6 months, working on feeling good emotionally and physically. I have surrounded myself with people who encourage and challenge me, who make me laugh and listen to me cry. I feel rejuvenated. I feel confident in my career path, in my abilities, and my future. I'm in a completely different mind frame than I was in August 2010.
Maybe this is what it feels like to grow up.
So I will miss home. I will miss my parents and my cats. I will miss my friends and my apartment. I will miss having a car and spending weeknights at Chapters writing. I will miss the familiarity of the city and knowing someone wherever I go. I will miss my church. But I am excited about life in The Capital. I love the city and my program promises to be interesting and stimulating. I am glad to have friends already in the city, and to have already met some new people. The future looks shiny and promising and hopeful.
I think perhaps that is healthy: to love a place enough to know when it is time to leave.
Number of books read in 2012: 15
Current TV series: Scrubs season 5
Current nail colour: Essence's "Where is the Party?"