Five years ago today I moved to Québec.
What my life is like now is nothing like what I thought it would be on that day I crossed the border and moved to Canada. I came here to be with the person I loved, and once I left my country, he became my home. It wasn't a conscious decision; it just happened in my heart when I displaced myself for him and we got married.
When that exploded and the ground beneath me finally stopped shaking, I realized that I would need to gently dust myself off and redefine "home" for myself. I had to figure out a path forward.
As I slowly and achingly made my way through the loss, I discovered another, broader home waiting for me. A more spacious home. It appeared quietly at some point during the long expanse of stillness following the explosion. I don't know if I built it, or if it was there all along and I just didn't realize it. Perhaps both. Or perhaps it was a gift.
It's funny; somehow the pain of loss contained within it lessons in spaciousness. Experiencing loss and failure has paradoxically given me more of a sense of freedom. Surviving the loss of what was most important to me has made me more willing to risk, because what do I have left to fear anyway? I have had to start over and face the wide-open horizon, to move forward into the unknowing.
These days I am more willing to speak my mind and less afraid of what people will think. I figure if someone can't handle what I think and who I am, then it's better to know sooner than later. Life is short, and you never know what tomorrow will bring. So I am pushing myself out of my comfort zone and trying new things. I am chosing to say yes. I am moving forward into my new life, and I am determined.