Five Years in Toronto

“As much as it pains me to say it,” said my mother, “you needed to move to Toronto, and you’re not ready to move yet. You’ve had to struggle and everything you’ve gained you’ve had to work for. It hasn’t been easy for you, or us.”

Five years ago tomorrow, I moved to Toronto. Well, my dad and I left Calgary on the 2nd and arrived in Toronto on the 4th, but the 1st was part of the original plan and it just rounds out nicer. It’s taken me these five years to wrap three fingers around my life here. With each passing year, my grip gets a little better, if not a little tighter, too. I doubt I’ll ever get five fingers wrapped squarely around my life, but that has nothing to do with Toronto.

Any semblance of composure that I might outwardly display is complemented by disarray in another aspect of my life. Balance is the key to life. That my life is teetering on a fulcrum is a step forward.

When I look back on the last five years, I’m prouder of myself each year. Year one was a mess. Year five, I landed a job that lasted the bulk of the year. Personally, I’ve got a better idea of what I need and want out of my life. I’m not driven by the same desires that I once was and have started acting with the future in mind. While I’m not always patient, I certainly value it more than ever before. I’m starting to understand the real impact of consequences.

Most importantly, I’m more comfortable with my life than I ever have been. I’m getting better at defending my decisions and actions unapologetically.

Sure, there’s a lot that I would like to change about myself. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t think that there was more to work on than there is that has been perfected. I’m okay with prioritizing certain goals and keeping others on the back burner. I’ve accepted that I need to nap.

“You don’t want to get too comfortable with being on your own,” my mother advised. “You need to start thinking about who you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.”

Fuck.

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