I’ve stepped onto new land, a new place to call home.

The road to get here was one of the rockiest I’ve been down. I’ve been challenged again and again for months, and seen parts of myself that I am not proud of. This move has been everything but smooth. It was stressful before we left, and it become exponentially more stressful when we arrived.

But as the dust settles around me and I start to see past all of the chaos and obstacles, I see that this is where I’ve needed to land all along.

Vancouver. A home I didn’t realize was calling me hither.

I know the challenges are not done, and I know that there is so much more growth for me to endure, but it feels incredible to have finally landed.

Here’s a little summary of our move:⁣

• The very necessary cat medications for the two days of driving got packed (one cat gets car sick, one cat screams the whole cat ride)⁣

• Instead of paying $175 per cat to get an emergency exam done in order to get the prescriptions refilled (our vet office was closed) my parents unpacked the jam-packed-tetris-masterpiece Uhaul at their house... and still didn’t find it

• We headed to my parents’ place first thing in the morning to search. Luckily, I remembered I put a cat collar in the same box, and Nico remembered there was a Tile on the collar. We found it in no time.

• We realized that the tread of the tires on the Uhaul were worn down to nothing. We had to stop to get our tires replaced.

• Finally on the road, and the two days of driving was wonderful.

• We arrive in Vancouver feeling excited, and very enthused.

• We arrive at the apartment and all of that disappears. Our apartment is smaller than we thought, and disgusting. We each have our own little meltdown (parents included), but we get to cleaning. In the process, we discover:

• The kitchen is full of mold. The bathroom is full of mold.

• More breakdowns.⁣

• We get in contact with our landlord and demand a new fridge (it was covered in mold).

• Our dads run to Home Depot and get new light fixtures, cleaning supplies, smoke detectors, caulking, toilet seat, and more. Our moms get to scrubbing.

• Things are starting to look better, more manageable. Less disastrous.

• I realize some big garbage bags full of our linens and many, many of my clothes is missing. Turns out they were accidentally (and tragically) thrown away with garbage bags filled with real garbage.⁣

• More breakdowns.⁣

• After two days of scrubbing, fixing, many dollars spent and many tears shed, our place is liveable.⁣

• 5 days without a fridge.

  
  None of us could have imagined the obstacles we’ve faced, and how impactful they were in the moment. None of us went without crying. None of us will forget how messy this move was.

  But another thing we won’t forget? How we laughed as much as we cried. How well our families mesh together and work together as a team. How funny it was to watch our dads work together with their decades of experience. How our moms wiped our tears and made sure this was a liveable space. How at the restaurants we went to after hours and hours of working, we were the loudest and most loving table there. How through all of it I know that Nicolas Hamel is, without a doubt, my person. How none of this would have been possible without our families. How, already, this is something we are beginning to laugh about.

  No, this hasn’t been smooth, it hasn’t been easy, and I absolutely do not wish to ever repeat this series of events. But, I’m here. And I’m happy. It feels so right.

  One of my biggest lessons through all of this has been that although are many things we face that we do not have control over, we do have the ability to control our reaction. I will be the first to admit that I have lots of work to do with this, but with the challenges that came my way I began to realize my patterns. How quickly fear takes over. But intense panic becomes. And maybe the patterns don’t immediately disappear or change, but there is pause to be found between the chaos, and the reaction.

  The Buddha says that when something happens there are two arrows thrown: one is the thing happening, and the other is your reaction.

  Isn’t one arrow enough?

I've made a promise to myself:

Every time I am challenged, confused, grieving, lost, or shaken, I will walk to the ocean. I will drop everything, let the world melt away. I will find refuge in the salt in the air, the slippery algae on the rocks, and rest on the steadiness of my own breath. I will practice finding the pause. I will learn to catch the second arrow. I will empower myself with the change possible through simple awareness.