Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Partie Deux)
Ten years ago, I was in the middle of planning my temporary move to Montreal.
I was both excited about the move and anxious about living away from my family and friends. It was exhilarating and I was very optimistic about the temporary relocation. When I talked to Nicolas (the guy whose lease I was taking over) on April 4, 2008, I didn't have a clue that I would undergo as much as I did when I lived in Montreal. It might not seem like a whole lot to an outsider, but Montreal living was my first real taste at complete solitude. It was the first time I took a bite out of life and understood what it meant to be an adult.
It was also the first time I fell in real love.
I've mentioned my past loves on this platform. From First Him through to Third Him, I have detailed how my love for these men shaped me into the woman I am today. Well this post isn't going to be about them. No. This post is going to be dedicated to that moment in time when I genuinely felt in love with myself. The first time I looked out for me, and me alone.
Living in Montreal was like living in a state of constant awe. Everything about the city--from the cityscape to the men, down to the gritty smell in the air--made me gape around in wonder. I was half-tempted to stay there forever and abandon my life in Edmonton. I had been planning on leaving Edmonton to go and live someplace else since high school--a fact I always forget about--and living in Montreal opened up my eyes to the possibility of living in one of the most beautiful cities on this lovely planet. But my love and affection for the city was tied up with some very confusing feelings about my cute roommate, Second Him, so when the opportunity came to stay in Montreal, I thought it was best to return to Edmonton, lest my confused feelings for someone cloud my judgment.
I did, however, return to Montreal later that year, but I did not look up my former roommate. I felt that looking him up would somehow diminish my goals; a silly notion (I know), but it was a very real fear. I felt that had I gone back for him as well as to pursue my dreams, I would not have been fair to my aspirations. I needed to focus on one exquisite dream before I could allow myself the permission to pursue another.
This was all done in my best interest, of course, and I constantly look back at baby Marcela in awe. I'm a romantic, so it's hard for me to reconcile my romantic illusions with my logical reasoning, but I did so back in August 2008. I put my career and my dreams first and I'm happy I did so.
A few weeks ago, I felt the same push and pull. It might not seem similar to my conflict ten years ago, but I see the parallel. I was at a crossroads yet again; on the one hand, I knew my job was coming to an end and, on the other, I knew I had to push myself to chase my dreams of writing as a professional. What was in my absolute best interest?
I remember when I interviewed for this job in February. I was excited about the job, but not wholly convinced it was the right fit for me. When they went with another candidate at the time, I was relieved, though somewhat disappointed. Fast-forward to exactly four weeks later when I received another offer from them. At that moment, I knew it would be stupid of me not to take it. Sure, I could have gone with the "easier" job (the one that didn't challenge me, but was safe), but I knew I had to act in my best interest once more. I decided to go with my gut.
I made the same call back in 2008; staying in Montreal would have been easy, but I knew I had to pull the plug on my unhealthy fixation on Second Him. I followed my gut back then and I'm following it again now, a feat for me, for sure. I've never relied on my intuition, preferring to carefully weigh my options and go with what is in my best (logical) interest. But I think I'm slowly learning to go with what that tiny voice inside me is telling me to do. It's slow going, but I'm doing it.
I was both excited about the move and anxious about living away from my family and friends. It was exhilarating and I was very optimistic about the temporary relocation. When I talked to Nicolas (the guy whose lease I was taking over) on April 4, 2008, I didn't have a clue that I would undergo as much as I did when I lived in Montreal. It might not seem like a whole lot to an outsider, but Montreal living was my first real taste at complete solitude. It was the first time I took a bite out of life and understood what it meant to be an adult.
It was also the first time I fell in real love.
I've mentioned my past loves on this platform. From First Him through to Third Him, I have detailed how my love for these men shaped me into the woman I am today. Well this post isn't going to be about them. No. This post is going to be dedicated to that moment in time when I genuinely felt in love with myself. The first time I looked out for me, and me alone.
Living in Montreal was like living in a state of constant awe. Everything about the city--from the cityscape to the men, down to the gritty smell in the air--made me gape around in wonder. I was half-tempted to stay there forever and abandon my life in Edmonton. I had been planning on leaving Edmonton to go and live someplace else since high school--a fact I always forget about--and living in Montreal opened up my eyes to the possibility of living in one of the most beautiful cities on this lovely planet. But my love and affection for the city was tied up with some very confusing feelings about my cute roommate, Second Him, so when the opportunity came to stay in Montreal, I thought it was best to return to Edmonton, lest my confused feelings for someone cloud my judgment.
I did, however, return to Montreal later that year, but I did not look up my former roommate. I felt that looking him up would somehow diminish my goals; a silly notion (I know), but it was a very real fear. I felt that had I gone back for him as well as to pursue my dreams, I would not have been fair to my aspirations. I needed to focus on one exquisite dream before I could allow myself the permission to pursue another.
This was all done in my best interest, of course, and I constantly look back at baby Marcela in awe. I'm a romantic, so it's hard for me to reconcile my romantic illusions with my logical reasoning, but I did so back in August 2008. I put my career and my dreams first and I'm happy I did so.
A few weeks ago, I felt the same push and pull. It might not seem similar to my conflict ten years ago, but I see the parallel. I was at a crossroads yet again; on the one hand, I knew my job was coming to an end and, on the other, I knew I had to push myself to chase my dreams of writing as a professional. What was in my absolute best interest?
I remember when I interviewed for this job in February. I was excited about the job, but not wholly convinced it was the right fit for me. When they went with another candidate at the time, I was relieved, though somewhat disappointed. Fast-forward to exactly four weeks later when I received another offer from them. At that moment, I knew it would be stupid of me not to take it. Sure, I could have gone with the "easier" job (the one that didn't challenge me, but was safe), but I knew I had to act in my best interest once more. I decided to go with my gut.
I made the same call back in 2008; staying in Montreal would have been easy, but I knew I had to pull the plug on my unhealthy fixation on Second Him. I followed my gut back then and I'm following it again now, a feat for me, for sure. I've never relied on my intuition, preferring to carefully weigh my options and go with what is in my best (logical) interest. But I think I'm slowly learning to go with what that tiny voice inside me is telling me to do. It's slow going, but I'm doing it.
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