I’m not busy anymore.
I still have the busy brain, of course. The rushing, the worrying, the overthinking…that hasn’t gone anywhere. Still, if a change in scene is going to help me wind down, this is certainly the right place. Everything around me seems to be saying “CHILL OUT LADY. JUST ENJOY THE RIDE.”
And I should, I really should. I live in a little one-room home with a fireplace and a big tub, shared with my hardworking farmer boyfriend. We have a P.O. Box in a teeny-tiny village, the kind that has less than 10 streets. I help out on the farm, and am looking for a job in writing/marketing. For now, I have time to cook dinner, to read, to follow shows and sports. Our place is surrounded by trees and trails. I’m living a dream of sorts, for sure.
It’s not my dream per se, at least it wasn’t originally. Small towns and shacking up were not on initially on my radar. But here I am. Here we are. And my brain, my buzzing, scaredy-cat brain, it’s still adjusting.
But I need to stop buzzing, I do. The overworked, underpaid student life is not sustainable. When I left Ottawa, my health was on the floor. I lived in a basement apartment in Vanier with thin walls and two yippy dogs upstairs (I loved that apartment, but a freshman lease turned into four years underground awfully quickly). I had friends, but the majority of people I’d met during school had since moved on with their lives. In short, I was ready to move on. And so I told my boyfriend I would move with him, back to his hometown. I wanted to leave Ottawa while I was still in love with it, before all the construction and job-hunting took its toll on me. He wanted to work the land with his father. It was a good move. It made sense. It still does.
Hopefully, my city-stained self will be able to fully embrace that soon enough.