Ah, the day of reckoning, the final countdown, the gargantuanly supreme moment of life-altering totality.<\/p>\n
The move out.<\/p>\n
Or move in, I guess, but that all depends on your half-full\/half-empty stance of life psychologists seem to rave about. Some see the glass half-full and some see the glass half-empty, but one idealistic genius, sarcasm semi-intended, saw millions of post-secondary minds mulling over a basic analogy for optimism and pessimism, a subject many people could have understood with a simple:<\/p>\n
\u201cSome people are happy. Some people are sad. That’s all folks.\u201d<\/p>\n
And then the Looney Tunes logo would play them out and everyone would return to life a little happier and a little smarter with a skip in their step and warmth in their heart.<\/p>\n
But that\u2019s not how life plays out.\u00a0And that\u2019s not what this blog should be about either.<\/p>\n
All right, the move out.\u00a0Or move in.\u00a0Damn my repetitive mind!<\/p>\n
Okay, I\u2019ll paint the picture.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I woke up in my childhood bed for the last time. My alarm was set but I knew I\u2019d get up before then. How can you sleep when you have that feeling? That jittery feeling of doing something monumental. That transcending feeling of adrenaline, nostalgia and fear all pounded together with a hammer. It\u2019s the one time I feel like a president, waiting in the aisles to deliver a jaw-dropping speech, with words that skip past prejudice and dig straight for the emotions instead. That\u2019s the feeling.\u00a0I looked at the suitcase I\u2019d packed four days ago. How much more could I analyze and decipher it?<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat am I missing?\u201d I\u2019d ask myself. I knew there was something, something off. It was like I had left a $50 at a restaurant instead of a $20. My planned 20% tip felt more like 200% now\u2026.<\/p>\n
…<\/p>\n
The tips are a simile for life.<\/p>\n
But the feeling was still there.\u00a0I had goose bumps, toad toes, iguana elbows, and I have no idea what those last two are either. That\u2019s how crazy it felt. Screw butterflies, I had walruses in my stomach. I wasn\u2019t me.<\/p>\n
I walked through the house.\u00a0It was leaving me. I was the one moving away but I wasn\u2019t leaving, the house was. My framed Gr. 3 painting was moving on. It\u2019s a damn good painting so that\u2019s a big deal to me. Seriously, I was a little Rembrandt.<\/p>\n
Will I post a picture? Hell no.<\/p>\n
Why? Because in truth, it\u2019s not that good, but as a token of my childhood, it\u2019s a masterpiece.<\/p>\n
And so the time came that my future lay on the driveway, ready to be loaded to our gold minivan with the one broken door. It\u2019s a weird feeling to see your life in material form.\u00a0And as the car pulled out of the driveway, I looked back at my true home one more time. I looked at the drainpipe I shattered during a \u201cthrow it over the house\u201d contest. I looked at the porch where I\u2019d always sit in the rain and watch lightning, like an old fisherman admiring his catch after a long struggle. And then, as quick as the turn of a corner, I had moved out.<\/p>\n
Thus began my crazy adventure.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Ah, the day of reckoning, the final countdown, the gargantuanly supreme moment of life-altering totality. The move out. Or move in, I guess, but that all depends on your half-full\/half-empty stance of life psychologists seem to rave about. Some see … Continue reading