When One Door Closes...

There are few things I am ashamed about. As a general rule, I tend to shy away from the concept of making a “mistake.” There are good choices, and the choices you learn from. With every one thing connected in some way to another, it’s hard to judge actions or thoughts by their immediate results without dismissing the idea of interconnectedness altogether, something that, the more I learn about, the more fully I come to understand myself and the world around me.

However, to err is only human, and shame can be, at times, a product of human error mixed with a deadly blow to our ego. A fairly recent and potent source of shame for my Catholic-raised self was the defeated return to my hometown upon graduating. This Port City, while the backdrop of many fond childhood memories and home to many loved ones, represented for me several things, but most importantly failure. To come back dejected, in a sense, “starting from square one” was an unbelievable blow to my teenage ego. The thought of moving on, far and above the muddy roots from which I came, never seemed further, and for the longest time, I tried to keep my own failure secret from some of the people that were closest to me. For a while it worked, and I even managed to convince myself that it was only a temporary setback, that as soon as this, as soon as that, I would be on the next plane West and to a new life.

But now, as I grow older and learn as the days go by, I’ve come to accept this so-called defeat. It is a new life and there is so much in store. I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel just yet, especially just as I’m finding my own place within the fold. This past year has brought so much in the way of experience, love, and friendships, and I find myself constantly surprised at my own good fortune. There is family here. There are deep, lasting friendships here. There may even be a love here. To go running off in search of something better when there is so much already in front of me does not make any sense now. I have hung my proverbial hat in four different places in the past year and a half, and I’m tired. Yes, I may be my mother’s daughter, but where she has spent her whole life running from herself, I will rest and face what it is she’s fleeing from. She may have a past here, but so do I. The difference is, I also have a future here and I’m no longer going to let one control the other, especially when there are so many more doors yet to be opened.

Yes, there are good choices, there are choices you learn from, and there are also choices that bring you to where you need to be. When one door closes, so many others open, and I’m enjoying too much finding out what’s behind each one right now to abandon them in search of another. If someone had asked me two years ago where I would be, who I would know, what I would be doing, I would never have been able to come up with this answer…and I wouldn’t have it any other way. There are many wonderful things unfolding here in this cold, curious little city and for now, Montreal can wait. Call it, a simple twist of fate.