I guess I don't write when I'm in Canada
I always feel a bit confused when I visit Florida. There are a lot of conflicting feelings that result from being around my family again--remembering pieces of my childhood, visiting with friends that I realize (in retrospect) are far smarter than I, and having somewhat of a full schedule in start contrast to my ever-empty Canadian one. Sometimes I feel like I'm just living two completely separate lives, as if everything started over when I moved to a foreign country at age 22. Everything was so different, I never really bothered comparing the two.
I'm not sure where I'm supposed to be. I'm overall content in Canada, but little things gnaw at me sometimes, like the thought of not being with my parents as they grow older. I come home and I love the marsh in their backyard and the beautiful view from my bedroom window (the sunlight pours in in the morning) and the fact that I actually have places to be and fun things to do.
But I like the snow and the healthcare and my mother-in-law and my sweet cats in my hundred-year-old, one-bedroom house in the flats. I didn't ever mean to stretch myself between two places like this, or to feel like I have to choose between things that are so important.
The thought of immigrating again sounds altogether exhausting, not to mention expensive, and I have no particular skill sets anyway (I'm sure they would be really impressed to find that the only jobs I've ever really had are as a nanny). I wanted to be a speech pathologist, but that fell through. I want to have a kid, but I should probably figure out which country I want to live in, first.
Sometimes moving to a faraway place just ultimately brings you back to where you started, and you realize it was the right place all along (but it wouldn't have been unless you'd left, perhaps).
I'm not sure where I'm supposed to be. I'm overall content in Canada, but little things gnaw at me sometimes, like the thought of not being with my parents as they grow older. I come home and I love the marsh in their backyard and the beautiful view from my bedroom window (the sunlight pours in in the morning) and the fact that I actually have places to be and fun things to do.
But I like the snow and the healthcare and my mother-in-law and my sweet cats in my hundred-year-old, one-bedroom house in the flats. I didn't ever mean to stretch myself between two places like this, or to feel like I have to choose between things that are so important.
The thought of immigrating again sounds altogether exhausting, not to mention expensive, and I have no particular skill sets anyway (I'm sure they would be really impressed to find that the only jobs I've ever really had are as a nanny). I wanted to be a speech pathologist, but that fell through. I want to have a kid, but I should probably figure out which country I want to live in, first.
Sometimes moving to a faraway place just ultimately brings you back to where you started, and you realize it was the right place all along (but it wouldn't have been unless you'd left, perhaps).