"Yes, I'm going to marry a stop sign."

Since my last update, I have kept a fairly low-key schedule. I am up early for work, home at lunch to let Carter out, and back to the grind until sometime after 4, with an evening walk to cap most days. Outside of two evenings on separate weekends, I have even stayed out of the pubs for the most part.

Nights out here take energy, and a lot of it. I find the timelines are so stretched here: you start at 8pm at one apartment, go to one bar at 10pm, then to another apartment at 11pm, then the last bar at 1am, then another apartment by 2am, and then home by 4am if you are lucky. I am certainly no stranger to nights out, or to bouts of excessive drinking beginning shortly after breakfast with good friends. But here, perhaps it is the lack of good friends or familiar faces, but I find it all to be rather boring.

When I sat down to cajole this entry from myself, I found that I had little to say. Nothing of note happened outside hosting another open mic night, a few walks on nice days, drives about town, and two minor visits to the emergency room (one for a scratched eye, the other for stitches to my toe). I sat for a while and thought, “those things are boring, I’ve mentioned them before. There must be other days…”, and it hit me.

The idea of “days” or “nights” as benchmarks in my unexciting life was perhaps a bit of a reach. Rarely did full days or nights register as ones to remember, and in expecting so I failed to observe the impact of a moment. Not exactly a profound statement by any means, but in being here I was looking for the next big attraction every time, and going by me were snapshots of a person. I was missing the little moments that were making me.

I discovered that I had been having “moments”, all the while I just shrugged, smiled, or shook them off. Sometimes the moment paused with a déjà vu sense, but there was no connection to the past. Perhaps I had been waiting on that moment for a while, having sometime in the past noted or thought of how I wished I could feel this or that.

Upon arriving in Hay River, I had a few “well, I’m here now” moments. I would be out walking Carter or sitting in my room, a feeling of loneliness and helplessness washing over me, a panic attack in disguise, and I would just tell myself to get over it. Most times, I listened, knowing I could do nothing about it anyway.

A few more recent moments came within March and this first part of April. Over the last bit I had been out with Carter on the river, taking to our walks as per usual, and enjoying the sun and warm temperatures. In the evenings, I would take a drive into Old Town to try and see some action from the Northern lights, or alternatively, just go for an aimless drive on the back roads outside of town. I would light a cigarette, turn the music low, and just rattle along with the sound of the tires and the engine, my mind churning an endless wash of thoughts.

One evening just before dusk, I had just returned from a 5km jaunt on the river with Carter, and he settled into his bed to nap off the workout. Needing to pick up some necessities, I headed to the grocery store and took the long way home. I set into the road that leads behind town and towards Great Slave, took the ice crossing in to Old Town, then headed back toward New Town. Passing the industrial park, port, and rail yard, I was on the last stretch before the bridge between town sections, and the clouded sky was completely red.

I pulled the truck into the airport, sat on the roof and finished my coffee. A low cloud wall sat just above the tree line, the sun tucking in just behind it with its radiance bright on all horizons. A cool breeze came off the runway from the lake end, carrying the muffled drone of an approaching plane. I smiled one of those “this ain’t so bad” smiles, and before I left I watched a Buffalo Airways DC-3 land on the tarmac.

A few days later, I was on the same back road with more on my mind than in it. I had been having problems sleeping (more so than usual), and one night old thoughts and feelings had been warping my already tired brain. Things that I had not given thought in months, even years in some cases, all of a sudden beckoned to me for some reason. Sticking to my tried and trusted methods, I took a drive to sort things out.

While I was turning from one dirt road to the other, I discovered I “liked” this road. Now, something like this may not identify with those of you who don’t like driving, or motion in general. For me, whether in a vehicle, on my bike, or walking, I will find pieces of land I like. This road had found itself on my list, mainly due to its remote location, but also because I felt I wanted my driveway to be like this. The road felt like home, somewhere I could go everyday and never tire of.

I think back to that now, and I am glad that I take such joy in things others may consider foolish. (“You like a road? Are you going to marry a stop sign?”) To Hell with them, I only need to have gas in the truck to find some solace. I think that’s pretty spectacular.

Sitting on my deck a few nights back, I was enjoying a cigarette and a tea. I looked out over the forest across the river, down on to the street below, and to the sky in every direction trying to pick out constellations to identify later. Gazing to the stars, I took a deep drag and sat back, closed my eyes and exhaled. I sat in blind silence, thinking of nothing particular, and found that this was extremely relaxing. Keeping my eyes shut, I had another puff and could feel the “moment” tinge coming on. I was about to ruin it, as I do with most things, because I had to snuff out my cigarette, which required my sight.

In the split second it takes to open your eyes, I cursed myself for ruining that relaxed state. The next second I was congratulating myself on my impeccable timing as the Northern Lights had taken to putting on quite a show just overhead. It is rare to see the lights so clear and active in town due to light pollution, but on this evening they were extremely strong in town.

The display had been a moment several times over. Initially, I was completely rapt in the excitement and awe of the lights, feeling joy and wonder. Then again, as mentioned in the previous post, it was such a numbing reminder that there was nobody to share it with. Finally, it was shaken off as just another night in the North, nothing to write home about.
These moments were amidst many more which were no more or less important, but they make fine examples of moments I would share. Looking back, the four months I have been in the North have contained moments of excitement, regret, happiness, desolation, isolation, helplessness, progress, motion, and anxiety. As with any experience, you take the bad with the good, and you are pretty much fucked if you start dwelling on things.

In a week, I leave for a two-week trip though parts of Alberta. I will be winding my way to Grande Prairie, then a savory route through the Rockies to Canmore for a visit with a friend. After a back-roads-only drive swooping under Calgary, it will be up to Edmonton for 6 days with another friend from back home.

Having seen the power of relocation and motion at work, I am anxious to see what awaits a fairly open schedule, 3000kms of road, and a mind seeking excitement.

More moments, all lying in wait.