I wrote this five years ago today, twenty-four hours after life as I knew it was ripped from its moorings. The next day I flew back to Toronto, my heart broken into a million little pieces. The day after that my last grandparent passed away; that’s how I ended up spending New Year’s Eve not in Toronto, but in Liverpool with HLP Paul and Scouse Tracy, and how my night culminated with me passed out on HLP Paul’s bedroom floor and then being kicked awake by a British soldier barking, “Oy, Canada! Let’s go get a prozzie!” (This really happened.) It’s incredible to think back to where I was five years ago and compare it to where I was last Saturday, when I flew home from Calgary in business class for the start of (what I’m hoping are) three incredible weeks of holiday (and they will be incredible…well, unless the Mayans were onto something–in which case never mind). My original reasons for moving out to Calgary might not have panned out exactly the way I anticipated–but I’ve made a pretty good go of it out in Western Canada nonetheless.
Five years. How quick they’ve moved. Here’s to the next five.