here in my head

Between Hilly returning to her heart’s home of California, and Chris’ blog post this morning asking us “where are you?”, I’ve been giving some thought as to just where Home is for me. This idea that there is the right place in the world for someone. A vibe or an energy that fits you perfectly.

I think that for some people there is one place in the world that is just for them, and if they’re lucky, they’ve found it. And I think “Home” can be in many places for others. I know I get that feeling from different places at different times in my life, so there may not be just one place where my heart calls home.

I know that our downtown house is far more ‘home’ than our suburban Ottawa house ever was. Even with the upheaval of (seemingly unending) renovations I have never once doubted that this was the right move for us. That this is the right house for us. That we are in the right place for us. And Ottawa feels much more like home to me than many other places I’ve lived. But is it my heart’s home? I don’t know.

I also know when I see the skyline of Toronto from a plane or a train (or an automobile) I get a familiar flutter in my belly of “HOME” – I was born there, it’s one of my favourite Canadian cities, so that could be it. I love the energy of the city, the availability of theatre, music, food, and cute little boutiques that can be found there. I love that some of my best friends live there. But I’m also glad when it’s time to return to Ottawa, and the slightly more laid-back lifestyle here.

I know I feel a peace and a grounding like no other when I’m in the midst of the big sky of the prairies, so that could very well be “home”. Some people think that the flat prairies are boring, but I know better. I love how you can see a storm roll in from dozens upon dozens of kilometres away. I love how such an expansive sky is so freeing – like nothing is penning you in. I love that the city where I was a child – Winnipeg – has world class arts and culture that allowed a geeky, music-loving girl the opportunities to sing with a semi-professional choir, and see amazing theatre and ballet on a regular basis. Some of the people I love best in this world live there.

But I’ve had that feeling in places I’ve never lived too: New York City is one of my favourite places on earth, and when I’m walking in New York, it’s like the energy of Toronto, times a thousand, is coursing through my veins. When walking around the streets of Paris I felt a familiarity, a sense of “Home”, even though I’d never been there before. And I thought Vancouver a near perfect city when we visited on our honeymoon – with the Rocky Mountains to one side and the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean to the other. PEI, with it’s beautiful red sandy beaches, was one place I didn’t want to leave on our trip down east. I could also see myself living in Halifax with its rolling hilly roads and amazing boardwalk.

Maybe it’s just that I haven’t found the one place that makes my heart sing in just that way that tells me all these other places are simply mere imitations of HOME. Or maybe there are multiple places in this world that make me feel at home. I know that I do love where I am in life right now, and really, that’s all that’s important.

You’ve been in my dreams lately. You’ve grown from two lines on a stick, to waving at me via ultrasound, and yet you’re still just a dream. I’ve seen your face, your tiny thumb in your mouth. I long for you to be real. I can’t tell you how my heart soars when I’m dreaming of you, and how it sinks when I wake up and I realize that no, you’re not yet true, except in my head and my heart. How bittersweet it is to wake feeling both disappointment and hope. I have to believe these dreams will, someday, be reality. That you will really come to us when the time is right. Even if I want to make that time now, I will try to be patient. I will try to trust. I will continue to hope, each month, that this is the time you decide to make your way to me. And until you do, I’ll keep looking for you when I close my eyes.

Tell people you’re moving from the suburbs because you bought a house downtown, and you get many varied reactions. Mostly, from firends and family, reactions are positive, excited, happy for us, as this is something we have wanted for a while and didn’t think we could make happen for at least another 3-5 years. However, from the majority of people I tell, who are not friends or family, but rather aquantances or work colleagues, the assumption seems to be that because we have bought a house downtown, that means we don’t want kids.

“Oooh, I’d love to live downtown, but I have kids,” was one comment. And when I mentioned that we hoped to have kids in the near future, and raise them in this new house, this was the response:

*horrified face* “You can’t raise children downtown! You’ll move back to the suburbs once you’ve had kids. You’ll see.”

Comments said to me have ranged from “BUT YOU LIVE IN ORLEANS!” (because, apparently once you live in one part of the city, you never move? Or because Orleans is amazing and why would we want to leave? I assure you, it is not…), to “Must be nice to be a DINK” (I’m assuming he ment Double-Income-No-Kids, but you never know…), to (and this is my favourite) “Why would you move from the suburbs when you’re in your prime child-baring years?”

I’m not quite sure when living downtown and having children became mutually exculsive. I’m pretty sure it’s not. We’ve bought an end unit of a 90+-year-old row of four townhouses. Every other couple in the row have young kids. There is a park directly across from my house. There is a community centre kitty corner to my house. There is a school across the park. Sounds pretty ideal to me. Heck, we’ll be closer to a park and a school than we were in the suburbs.

It seems, however, that as a society we have a vision of the suburbs as a safe haven, where the lawns are always green, and the neighbours always friendly, and the children always safe. As if by moving to the outskirts of the city, we make ourselves safer and more secure. And yet, we have to bundle the kids up in car seats in our SUVs or mini vans to take them anywhere, even around the corner to the grocery store, because the streets lack sidewalks and the parking lots of the big box stores are a nightmare for a pedestrian, let alone a stroller. Suburban garages that are big enough to fit both our stuff and our cars mean that, unless we make an effort, we might never have to go outside to speak to neighbours, or even see them – rather we can drive into the garage and close the door before we even exit our vehicles – only increasing our isolation, rather than facilitating friendship.

Downtown, I will have a fresh, farmers market mere blocks away, two grocery stores within walking distance, and sidewalks to get me there. We have no garage in this new place. We’ve already met our neighbours, and we haven’t even moved in yet.

Not to say that suburbs are all bad – far from it. The suburbs provided a house that was affordable when we were first starting out. We’ve made some good friends in our neighbours, people we will miss when we move. For some people, the suburbs are ideal. But it’s not where we want to stay, and it’s not where we want to raise our family. We want to be in an area where everything we could want is in walking distance, where you don’t have to spend an hour on the bus to get anywhere, where we don’t have to bundle our kids into the car just to enjoy so much of what Ottawa has to offer – the canal, winterlude, the museums, the parks, the market. And, most importantly, instead of an hour on the bus to get home from work every night, I will have a half-hour walk. Which will give me more time with my kids, when I do have them. And that? That in itself, for me, is a good enough reason to move…

My third annual “Day Devoted to Suze’s Health and Wellbeing” (as I’ve come to call it) was on Monday. It started with a trip to the doctor for my annual physical and blood-test results. In April 2006 I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), my fasting blood sugar indicated pre-diabetes, my cholestoral was high, and just, in general, I was not in a good place, physically, for someone not yet 30. These results prompted lifestyle changes that I’ve managed to maintain (more or less) over the last three years. And every year on the day my physical is scheduled, I take the day off so I can visit the doctor and see the naturopath and make a plan for the next year. My blood sugar has been perfect these last three years since, as has my cholestoral. My medications have been reduced. I lost over 50lbs (I’m now at about 40lbs lost – the result of losing the access to the free gym at my old job has not been kind…That and I’ve had trouble finding a free activity I like as much as the elliptical…) It’s a struggle, one I have more success with some days/weeks/months than others, but on the whole I’m still moving in a positive direction. Taking this day every year reminds me of that – of how much work these last three years have been, and that I don’t want that to go to waste (or waist, as the case may be…)

And the cause of my overriding exhaustion/lack of sleep has been found – I’m lacking in some very important B12 and thus some red blood cells and my thyroid hormone has been over-replaced, mimicing hyperthyroid symptoms (rather than relieving the hypothyroid symptoms I normally exhibit). Now that I’m once again taking a more-appropriate dose for my thyroid I’m back to getting a full night’s sleep and hopefully in a few weeks when I’ve been able to renew my B12 stores I’ll be back in full energy once more…

The goals for this year have been set, and the plan of attack is being forged. And once again I feel renewed on this journey.