Brits Have Got The Monarchy, The U.S. Has The Money, But I Know That You Want To Be Canadian

--"Canadian, Please", Gunnarolla

Anyone who knows me knows I have this weird fetish for all things Canadian. It started with Avonlea, but it didn't end there--not by half. Be it Degrassi, Maclean's, or something as silly as Canadian bacon--just associating anything with the country of Canada is enough to raise its cache. Be it band or actress, novel or movie, if it involves Canada somehow I want to know about it.

That's why I find odd what my mom said to me yesterday. We had been arguing over why I still haven't renewed my passport. I told her that I didn't really feel like leaving the country ever, but the real reason was that nobody could force me to visit the old country if it was literally illegal for me to leave our borders. She came back with how I wanted to travel when I was younger and how I wanted to live on Prince Edward Island. My first instinct was to laugh because she remembered something that I hadn't really dwelled on in almost ten years. That was soon followed by the realization that, rather than being overly dramatic just to win the argument, she was being serious that I, in fact, had once upon a time wanted to live across the border. It wasn't just something I said. There was a strong part of me that really wanted to move there.

Yes, it was based on the ill-conceived notion that the entire country resembled something out of a L.M. Montgomery novel--sandstone beaches, high grassy plains, and lots and lots of long dresses, tams, and vests. I guess you could say I didn't want to move to Canada; I wanted to move to turn-of-the-century Canada. That still doesn't change the fact that for a few years there I had a plan in place to take up residence in a country I had never ever visited before but had read stacks of literature and other books about, had seen countless films and documentaries about, and had discussed in length with everyone I knew that hailed or once hailed from our neighbors to the north. For a short span there I had it in my head that it was somehow my destiny to end up in Canada, to be a Canadian, and to do all things Canadian. To me it wasn't some silly daydream that had somehow taken hold of my thoughts; it was an obsession. I wanted to belong there, fit in there, because every fiber of my being had told me that it was more my speed, I guess, and that I would end up preferring it there for good than living down here.

I honestly don't know what changed in ten years.

I still have an overbearing sense of infatuation with the country. I still think every Canadian (or half-Canadian... LOL) I've ever met has been all the more charismatic from the simple fact of their citizenship. And I still think that there are a lot of practices done over there that the U.S. could stand to learn from.

And yet I no longer have the overwhelming desire to live there.

I kind of look back on those years I wanted to live in Canada as something that was silly, something done in the folly of youth. But maybe it's the person I am now that's living in the dream. I used to think moving to PEI would be special and that I was truly born in the wrong era and location. Eventually, after it stopped being in the forefront of my mind, I thought how ridiculous that plan seemed. But maybe it's even more ridiculous to be the kind of person who quashes his own dreams, however grandiose they may be, and huddles under the covers of a place stagnant, yet safe.

I think it's the very nature of people to be yearning for something more, something bigger, something brighter, or even just something else. Once you're perfectly okay with keeping everything the same, staying rooted in the middle of the muck that is your life, then you've got no direction in life. You need something pushing you onward and upward, you need something pulling you out of the mire and towards something cleaner. When you lose that drive, you lose something more than a dream. You lose the hope that gives hope to your dreams. When you lose that incentive, you've got nothing to hold onto except the memories of somebody who used to believe in something and now believes in nothing at all.

I used to be a man who dreamed of living in Canada. Without that, now who am I?

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers