If you talked to me exactly 84 days ago, the thought of slipping me a valium in a margarita may have been a thought that crossed your mind. Because I was not ok. I was a hysteric, nervous wreck. I had the knot the size of a softball in between my shoulder blades (just ask my husband, it was serious). I woke up unrested, in a pool of anxious sweat, and was breaking out all over my face. With two weeks left before our scheduled move to the city of Toronto, we had no place to live, no job and no idea how we were going to get one of the latter. No one would accept our tenant application, since we did not have our social insurance numbers or immigration paperwork yet. People were hesitant to hire someone they only met over Skype. We had friends who had a lot of trouble at immigration and had to go back to make adjustments on their permit applications. What if we didn’t have enough money or Canada just didn’t like us? I was scared. Freaking out. Everyone kept saying, “It will all come together in the end.” And every time I wanted to scream back, “HOW DO YOU KNOW?!! THAT IS JUST EMPTY REASSURANCE AND IT’S NOT MAKING ME FEEL BETTER!!!”
And then it did. Just like that, within a matter of days, everything came together. I found an apartment and a job. Moving day came and we crossed the border without a hiccup. We moved into our last minute, maybe-things-happened-in-a-shady, cash-under-the-table kind of way, apartment; and it was perfect– aside from the filth. And we are putting food on the table. We’re doing ok. Willow is adjusting. And though she’s been sick half a dozen times, there’s Canadian health care, so that’s great. Had I known that we would be in this place 84 days ago, I would have chilled out a little bit. Maybe I would have gone for a walk to listen to the cicadas and smell lavender in people’s front gardens– you know, appreciated the summer that was coming to a rapid close and crap like that. But instead I wrapped my soul around a fundamental idea that everything was not ok and my whole life stopped. Yeah, I wish I would have let my soul wrap around the idea that everyone else was telling me, that everything was going to be ok. But then again, if I hadn’t been so anxious, I may not have tried as hard to find the job and the home we needed so badly.
So my resulting feeling, in hindsight or this whole ordeal, is deep, profound gratitude. Yeah, it sucked being anxious, packing up our entire lives and moving to another country. But we were never alone or not looked after. Everything came together when it very well could have all completely gone awry. And that’s amazing. That’s worth celebrating. And now, I have this esoteric sense of peace. And all I want to do is…