One Month Anniversary Post!

The word “niche” is defined as:

- a place or position suitable or appropriate for a person or thing.

Over the past week and a half, this term has been stamped to my frontal lobe. Every time I take a walk on the frozen Hay River, it is there. Every time I wake up, it is there. Every time I think of home... well... not so much anymore.

Some days, I pine for the family, friends, sights, and sounds of any place I’ve lived in New Brunswick. Saint John for the location of many of my best friends and family, Fredericton for the beautiful landscape and ease of the town, and the family and last love I had experienced there. Last, but certainly not least, St. Andrews for the relaxed pace, the seaside lifestyle, and the many friends and memories I had made there.

Recently, I have taken on the mission to immerse myself in all that is Hay River. My walks on the river and in the wild have started to become more “at ease”. Shedding the smile that one has for any new or exciting experience, likened to a 6 year old boy’s first ride in a transport truck, I have turned that page and found that these moments are becoming more normal. Seemingly, I am starting to feel somewhat at home. My niche must be where I am, not where I have been, nor where I'll be.

The biggest part of a niche for anyone or anything is the sensation of belonging, whether actual or perceived. Lately, the strides have been taken to get out more with people, instead of making my trails away from them.

On the month anniversary of my moving to the Great White North, I have found that I don’t actually know anyone beyond the confines of my staff, and that can be rather taxing. In my attempts to “get out there”, I’ve still stuck mainly to invites from coworkers, and found that the situations in which those invitations find me have brought very little in the way of extended interactions. I feel some days I am mainly asked along to a party or night out simply because I am new; or further, because they feel sorry for me and want to get me out of my room... or shell.

I have never had a problem making friends, fitting in, or being introduced, but up here I’ve become alarmingly shy. I’ve never encountered the experience of being totally new, where even a transfer to a new city for grade 12 year was eased by the fact I’d spent many weekends in Fredericton, and Saint John was only an hour away. I knew some people in Fredericton, and home was a quick trip down the road if I ever got homesick.

In Hay River, I know absolutely nobody. I moved here on a whim, and landing in town mid-December, there was only one name, and even then it had no face until I touched down. Taking on that sense of loneliness, of space and distance, put me in an introverted state. For the first time in my life, I was shy, scared, and feeling the pangs of isolation. After nearly a month here, I felt I had had enough... I needed to get out there.

This change of heart and mind has been brought on from the opposite end of the spectrum. I was so reserved that I was raising questions amongst others at the pubs and few house parties I had attended. With the locals being comfortable in their environment, they began asking for answers. A few would ask those with whom I had arrived, which did little for my sense of security, but others would walk up, extend a hand, and seek the information from the source.

Once I found out that I was becoming somewhat accepted, and that these folks are not much different than most of my group from home, I asked myself why I had been so worried. The simple answer was nerves, but the bigger issue I had uncovered after some deep soul searching was that I had an immense fear of who I was in relation to who they were. These feelings were based on nothing but the fact that I was completely and utterly new. I didn’t have anyone to say “oh, this is Butler” with the confidence that I would hit it off immediately. Up here, it is more “this is the new guy from work”. That introduction does not do much for the other person’s perception of me, and therefore, I decided to open up a bit, make my own acquaintances, and let the other hand I am shaking form its own opinion based on the source, not the messenger.

***

At the local bar a week or so back, I was sitting with some folks from work, enjoying a rather stiff rye and ginger. A guy at the next table had been talking about this “crazy band” called The Mars Volta. I went to the bar, procured two shots of Jager, and set one in front him of and lifted my snifter for a cheers. He followed suit, though confused. I joined the idle chat by telling him I had indeed been to a Mars Volta concert, and we carried on for an hour dissecting songs and praising their musicianship.

I’d made a friend...

About a day later, while walking Carter on the river, I saw another person about 300 yards ahead of me walking their dog. I hitched Carter to his leash to avoid any surprise to her or her pup, and was soon in step with a woman of about 35. I asked if I could let Carter off his lead to go run and play with her dog, and she replied with a hearty “fuck yeah, let ‘em go... saves us from doing any of the work”. As Carter and Molly ran off along the freeze, diving into deep snow and wrestling on the frost, we walked for about 40 minutes together, just talking about nothing much. I explained why I was here, what I was doing, and what I was hoping for in the end. She told me a lot about the town, the area, and things I should look for and see.

I’d made an acquaintance...

Last Saturday (January 9th, 2010), I was feeling a little more confident in my recent push to meet people, and decided that this night would finally put the cap on my shyness. I met up with a girl from work at her shift’s end in the pub. We went for a quick drive and found ourselves at another local bar. Having warmed up nicely in the room with a few ryes on ice, I asked the server for a double, sat with a few folks who knew my coworker, and began the act known formally as “getting shitfaced”. We drank and laughed until closing, and made our way to a house party, but not before retrieving my stock of beer from the room. As we got to the address on the other side of town, Sally (we’ll call her Sally, ok?) looked at me and said “now don’t be shy this time... meet some people”. I offered my stash of Kokanee to any and all, talked hockey and music over many a cigarette, and left around 5am with an added 10 contacts on my cell phone.

I was getting out there...

***

With a little added spring in my step, other areas of my life up here started improving over the last few weeks. I had gotten back to writing, on and off the page, with and without the guitar. I had started to distance myself from thoughts that had been plaguing me as of late, mostly concerning my past relationship. The biggest achievement found itself in the improvement of my living situation, as I had found an apartment. All of these things were starting to bring me around, and one by one, I was exploring their merits and awaiting the next round of changes.

More than anything, writing has always been therapeutic for me. I usually stick to poetry, if that is what writing on one half of the page would be deemed, using it mostly to vent frustration. However, there were many periods where I would try my hand at more descriptive or narrative poetry, always feeling that urge to branch out a bit. I do not recall ever having that "I'm going to write a novel" moment, though I've had a few ideas and have sketched out some plot lines for fun. I guess my imagination has never lent itself to the creation of a story. Whether for reading or writing, my subject choices have centered on real experiences.

Some of my experiences have caused me a great deal of personal distress. What I find most disheartening about my recent past is that I had made such obvious strides and statements to be accepted into a relationship again, and was for an evening or three until I left. Now I feel the sentiments expressed from the opposite end of the situation were merely formalities: a few words and hours of putting up with me, telling me what I wanted to hear for many months, and all done for the means of a personal end. There are moments it feels like spite, like a last ditch effort to hurt me as I had hurt her; a kind of “give him hope and take it all away” deal. But with a word like "forgiveness" not lightly tossed around, I would assume that is not the case. More than anything I think she just needed the distance in order to have her sense of closure. I had to be somewhere she was not, somewhere further than an hour's reach, and her idea of a goodbye felt to me like another shot somewhere down the line.

Getting my mind off this fact has not been easy. The old "get over one woman by getting under another" does not present itself as an attractive option to me, especially in a small town in the North. Mainly, the instances in which she has bid me first contact since I left could be counted on one half of a hand. I do not mention this in a manner of "see, she's horrible as well". She isn't, I was. In stating that, and considering my theory on distance in relation to closure, I think she has just let me go and washed her hands of me.

The idea of just being “done” kills me, and only adds to the pain I already feel. I can in no way speak for her, and do not intend to present my assumptions of her motives or mission as verified accounts. However, I am allowed my thoughts as well as my pains. The two and a half years we spent together, the year and a half following, and all of the future possibilities play endlessly in my mind; a torture beyond torture. I stick to nature and the page to help rid myself of these thoughts, and little by little, I do feel I am making some progress.

Of the many things I have to deal with, the idea that love is truly lost is not something I had hoped to face, surely not just a month into my rebuilding. Either way, I guess what is done is done, and I must make the best of it. I have usually been a “bad news first” kind of guy, so perhaps having this happen early in this period of transition will make the recuperation easier over a long haul.

My intentions up here do not include a love life, but just a new life. Some aspects of my life must change: physically, mentally, and emotionally. I think I would do well to keep the necessities of my person (sense of humor, outgoing ways, fingers and toes), but other things need fixing. I need more drive, more personal pride, and I need to feel needed somewhere, or at least wanted. I have found an apartment here in Hay River, a decent one bedroom spot with a view overlooking the river and an endless expanse of forest. Hopefully, this will help to get my sense of self in a better place, and kick start the proverbial wheels into motion.

A new niche is all I want, and with all the walls that have fallen, four new ones is a good start.