When I was in my early years of high school I was, sadly, already a nostalgic sop. I thought to myself, probably on some sort of emotional high, that I would be very sad to ever leave beautiful Nova Scotia.
How times change.
I don't want to say that I'm not sad, in a way. On August 21st, I crossed Nova Scotia's border at the lovely-if-exceptionally-breezy Tantramar Marshes and this time I won't be back for awhile. In fact, I'm writing this in Vancouver, B.C. where I'm beginning a year of intensive grad school. After that, who knows?
Well, the hope is for a job. In exactly what is unclear, though if you asked me right now I'd say I'm pretty keen on videogame writing, to which this blog is a (partial) testament. Simon Fraser University's Centre for Digital Media is about more than games, though, and things will change a lot. I readily invite anybody reading this (hello!) to change with me.
A lot of things in Halifax changed, too, as things do over time. When I first moved into the city in the fall of 2007, it seemed much larger. When I left, it seemed smaller. Other Haligonians will know what I mean.
I met a lot of lovely people, including and especially in Halifax's small but proud soccer community. Having more or less grown up on Henry St. in the the old Dalhousie English department, I'll be sad not to walk down the pretty but extremely uneven sidewalk again. I'll miss staggering into room 312 of Dalhousie's SUB, finding the Gazette by the scent of pizza and fellowship.
There were also challenges as things shrunk. I spent a lot of time on the trip out to Vancouver thinking about my tiny town of Musquodoboit and how small it is, how powerful it can be, and how I am yet another young, creative person leaving it. I am one of the last of my young, creative friends to leave it. I held on for as long as possible, and in the end perhaps it should have been cleaner. One day I will return and see it--in the mean-time I can only imagine. All I know about it for certain is that it has inspired me for 23 years, and will continue to do so.
Whenever we first close the new door, we leave some problems behind--the ones too complicated or too deep to address quickly or on our own. As soon as we open our eyes, more problems confront us in different situations. There are opportunities on both sides of the door, and so the decision ought not, I think, to be seen as an abandonment or departure, and simply as a sort of 7000-kilometre changing of lanes. (Which is, incidentally, very difficult to do in Vancouver.)
To all those who have left and whom I have left: goodbye, and good luck. We'll face the same problems on opposite coasts, and some day we'll switch again. I look forward to passing you on the way by. I'll wave.
Oh, Musquodoboit. Perhaps, there isn't a place we can go in the world that is smaller. But what an opportunity to grow in such a place; from the qualms to the comfort of everyone knowing everyone. Everywhere will be bigger, even if it is smaller than the last place we've been, but we will always have that reference point, on a map in the middle of Nova Scotia. Middle Musquodoboit.
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