Into the Unknown

I’ve never been keen on the unknown. I thrive on lists, and planning, itineraries and details. This road trip can’t be controlled once I hand over the house keys and drive off.

It’s a Blair Witch script: you’re on the road, and you wanna go here, but what happens along the way isn’t set in stone and you won’t know what’s happening until we throw that stone at the back of your head.

I don’t know what the future holds. I’m not sure I want to remain in the pharmacy biz. Next week is my 14th anniversary at my current job. That’s exactly one third of my life. I’m not exactly sure how to feel about that. Is it a good thing, that I’ve stayed in one place so long? Or is it a bad thing, staying in one place for so long, yet making just enough to consider it a “living wage”, but not enough for the risk of killing a patient due to a typo?

I’ve been toying with the idea of a baking side hustle. Some nights, when I’m feeling a little optimistic, I throw around thoughts of opening a bakery, or a little coffee shop. I’d sell muffins and cake and cinnamon rolls slathered in icing. All of my plates would be mismatched and thrifted and patrons could choose whichever one “spoke to them” that day. Shawshank plays the same “we’ll open a cafe” game as well. We bounce names for the place off each other during 20-minute calls and letters. He wrote up a menu; he’s got it all planned.

What if I don’t like Canada?

What if I can’t grasp the concept of liters versus gallons? I imagine all sort of scenarios, none of them good. I’ll hate living with his parents for that period of time before we can get our footing. Or, I hate the small town, or they’ll hate me. I’m not exactly small prairie town material.

What if I don’t like being the outsider?

Honestly, I should ask him about it. Almost twenty years ago, he uprooted his own life to cross the border and be with me. Granted, we were twenty years younger, and more carefree at the time, and I’m sure that factored into things. However, I remember one of the things that made him decide to move here. Unlike me, he didn’t really have anyone. His family lived a few days’ drive from where he was. He had a roommate he hated (fuck you, Rene). He had no strings. On the other hand, I had all of my family in one state. It seemed logical, at the time. Right now I’m in a similar situation; half the family has moved, some are dead, and some don’t seem to care.

But, back to the familiar.

I’m scared to leave. I’m leaving everything I’ve ever known. I grew up in a city only a 10-minute drive from here. It’s the type of city people make fun of for being the Hotel California of the state. “No one ever gets out of Warwick. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.” And it’s fucking true. I moved out when I was 19, but only because Mom remarried and moved away while I worked on the cruise ship. After Shawshank and I moved out of our first place, we moved back to Warwick. I fact, we moved into the same apartment complex I grew up in.

And when he was detained by ICE, it was the first place I looked at rental prices for when I thought I’d have to move right away.

It’s familiar. But it’s not, not anymore. I drove across the city a few months ago and so much had changed, it really wasn’t my city anymore. This town has never felt like home, I’ve had to use the gps on more than one occasion to get across town.

Will I make this new place home?