There are a lot of things my 16 year-old self wouldn't believe for a minute if I rocked up from the future to fill her in. Smart phones, the pleasures of honestly just being oneself, and the fact that one day people around the world would unite in a shared pleasure of watching cats do stuff on the Internet. (The Interwhat? I might say. Isn't that that computer bulletin board thing Brad is always on?)
But it's true. I've been in town since Friday and today, after day two in the office at my new job (working with a woman I've been honoured to call my friend since well before my 16th birthday), I signed a lease on a four bedroom bungalow not two miles from where I grew up. It's behind the grocery store we used to shop at (much fancier than it used to be these days, I must say), a five minute walk to my office, the GO train and the Lakeshore.
Our house is on a street bordered with huge pines and deciduous trees quickly shedding golden and red leaves. Trees I swear must have grown at least 10 feet since I lived there, but maybe it's a reverse trick of age. Maybe trees are the one thing from childhood that seem bigger when you come back to them. The backyard is of park-like proportions when compared to our London digs (and indeed any Toronto, Montreal, Mexico or French digs I could ever lay claim to). I've been telling myself that however weird and unsure and freaked out I feel about leaving beloved London and making yet another new start, it's for the best. But it wasn't until when I saw Jack tear down that 200 foot stretch of lawn, through the leaves and past the trees, collapsing in laughter, that I knew it in my heart it was, too.