On the same day that my amazing grandparents had their 63rd, yes SIXTY-THIRD, wedding anniversary, I realised that I celebrated my own anniversary, of sorts. It was six years ago that I arrived at YVR airport and thought: ‘WTF????”. I knew no one, I had no where to stay after the two nights at the backpackers the visa organisation had arranged, and I had no idea what I was going to do.
It was terrifying in its liberation.
Something I find so strange about myself is how cautious and overly responsible I am (often to my detriment), and yet some of the hugest decisions I have made in my life have been big, risky, and from the start, right. I just knew with every inch of me that this is where I was meant to be and what I was meant to do, and the same applied when I met The Husband, and got engaged and married after only 7-8 months of knowing him. I had thought it all through, and none of the questions raised mattered to me.
And here I am now, six years later, piecing together the life I want to have. It has been the hardest thing I have ever done, and it continues to be difficult, sometimes excruciating, sometimes joyous, never dull.
Until we step outside our comfortable lives, we don’t really know who we are in the world. And I can only hope one day to be celebrating my own 63rd anniversary, and countless other anniversaries of achievements, failures, losses and triumphs, conscience of how far I have come, in distance and in time.
PS – the happy couple above are not my grandparents.