Today I was ballsy. Like, super ballsy. Not my normal amount of ballsy. Okay, maybe my normal amount of ballsy but with less give-a-fuck added in. What the hell did I have to lose? A simple, “No”? Besides, I’m leaving the great and terrible land of Edmonton (though, Edmonton has some great vegan restaurants!) in two days for Vancouver and Victoria. Add on to that that I’ve just gone through arguably the worst breakup of my life; I wasn’t exactly looking for anything. All I really wanted was someone to hang with, maybe a cuddle here or there, for human contact was something taken away from me long ago in my previous relationship. It’s bizarre, though; unless I’m really into someone, I can’t just cuddle. It feels weird. Even finding a cuddle buddy proves difficult.
Kim and Neil – two of my close friends from the days before travel – and I were at my favourite head shop from back in the day, just checking out some of the cool glass work and all. A dude who worked there was chatty and fun, not to mention rather cute. We left, and upon arrival home I thought fuck it: I have nothing going on tonight. I’m going to call the shop and ask the cute guy out. Why. The fuck. Not. We are way too closed off in modern society; time to meet a stranger with no fear, as I do daily when I’m hitchhiking. He said yes, and headed on over after work.
Well, the sparks didn’t fly, because this is far from a love story. What the hell were you thinking this was going to be? I left my emotionally abusive ex boyfriend two mere weeks ago! Nah, love stories don’t work like this. We did, however, have a lovely time hanging and chatting, only to realize that we not only graduated the same year, but went to the same junior high. Countless people we found we had in common, including an ex of mine that he played soccer with for years. Things just kept getting weirder. “Were you on the France trip in grade 9?” he asked. “Erm… yeah, I was in French immersion… were you on the France trip?!” So as it turns out, my second of 35 countries, at the age of 14, was actually a trip I did with this random guy I (re)met yesterday. You could say it was a little insane. Still, we had no recollection of each other – just this glimpse into the past where we’d never met, but our lives had overlapped… and here they were doing it again.
Inevitably I sent him on his way after some good chats, and went back to the land of being alone. He came to mind, but I tried to shove him out as best I could, now knowing the true beast beneath the mask. No, he was not worth any more of my tears.
A few days earlier I’d been talking to one of my other exes who I remain friends with. You know I’m straight up as hell, but my memory leaves something to be desired. So I asked him: “I know why my breakups happened with every other ex, except for you. Why the hell did we break up?” Five long years ago we’d split after a year and a half relationship, and this guy – man, objectively speaking he’s probably the perfect man for me. But the heart wants what the heart wants (sometimes it wants someone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but I digress). He explained to me that I had wanted to travel, while he wanted to build something to come home to. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to travel, but that he had other priorities to be met first.
“So… essentially, I left you for the love of my life, didn’t I? I left you for travel.”
Less than a year after our breakup I was gone on the journey I remain on now, free from any home, a true nomad.
So I guess I lied; I said this wasn’t a love story. It just wasn’t ever the love story of myself and a man, but of myself and my true dreams. A different kind of love story.
Keep on following those stars.