The impetus for moving out west was simple. "The grass is always greener somewhere else" mentality. The people would be different, my surroundings would be different, I'd have the perfect opportunity to reinvent myself.
Somehow, it never really occurred to me that the reason behind my tumultuous lifestyle was the warped way I filtered, comprehended and dealt with reality. "I'd get rid of all those unhealthy, negative, fatalistic, gloomy friends" I thought, believing half-heartedly that they were the "actual" problem and not me.
Out West the restrictions placed on me by my family would also be non-existent; British Columbia would offer me some real freedom for the first time. This was how the impending move to Vancouver
was seen in my mind's eye; a way of adding more gas to the "escape my life" flame and adding further justifications to an impetuous decision.
"What was my next move?", you ask? Well, I made a phone call to my Cousin Larry. He worked as a foreman for a company that specialized in coatings. They laid the flooring down in an assortment of different locations and structures. Mostly, they laid the coatings down in parking garages whereby they would grind up the old flooring first, clean it up, and then lay a new coating over the exposed concrete. Tough work, but I deduced that anything could be done with the right mindset.
While pondering these inner discourses, Larry abruptly answered the phone. "Hey, how are yeah?!" I said, before asking him whether he had any opportunities available. He said that he'd be happy to get me a job at his workplace, that it was located in Maple Ridge B.C. That he would even look at some places for me to live in the Vancouver area, because that was where most of their work would be done. And so, It was decided; I was headed for the far side of the country.
A week had passed since my phone call with Larry; the break-up, Graduation and the move out West were all happening in a blur. My family organized a graduation party for me. The party took place in my Dad's house in Devon. Quite a few people showed up and congratulated me on acquiring a Degree from St. Thomas University. I had received a BA, with a Major in History, and a Minor in Criminology.
I chose to Major in History because it was a "teachable". Most history classes (for me) were devastatingly boring and mundane. The professors had a passion for the content, but their ability to deliver an interesting pedagogical lesson plan was seriously lacking. Criminology was a saving grace, the content was absorbing, and many of the professors possessed passion and vigor.
While I learned many things during my time at St. Thomas University, it was still clouded and overshadowed by alcoholism. The Graduation party my family had organized was wonderful, but something underneath felt disingenuous, and unearned.
Dad had our guests eat some delicatessens as we engaged in surface level conversation. Near the end of the celebration I opened congratulatory cards that were filled with generous amounts of money, and by the end I had enough moola to pay for my flight out to VanCity and then some. At the time I was anything but a giver, so my mind marveled at the generosity of friends and family.
—Introspection—
Along with an insatiable desire to have sex with alcoholic filled containers (a weird way of saying I drank a lot) I was also permanently impaled in the anus by my own head. Self-absorbed to the brim, I had become a poster boy for the one stipulation that would entice me to help someone else "I had to get something out of it". Ben Ganong starring in : "self-centeredness.... the moving picture show". I was famous all right (in my own mind maybe) and this coveted role, fortified with selfish tendencies, was about to catch up with me.
The Western world and being out on my own were about to show just how little I knew about "real life" and just how bad my alcoholism was becoming. For so long I'd been able to scrape by because my parents provided me with a roof over my head and food in my belly no matter how I chose to spend my money. So, the anguish in my life was somewhat manageable for that reason, and because of that, I was not yet fully confronted by my demons.
For me, the best teacher in my life has always been pain. With enough pain and suffering, I will eventually change. Vancouver was the beginning of a level of unmanageability and pain that can only last so long, but man did I make it stretch.
I do my best to try and have a different relationship with pain today, where I recognize it as a vital component to leading a full and happy life. I also recognize that growth does not take place without pain. They have a synergistic connection that is best dealt with head on, with a grateful heart, and a clear mind.
---
I started communicating with various landlords in Vancouver, asking them how much it would cost to stay in the space they had advertised and how close it was to the downtown area. It didn't take long before I decided to move into a basement apartment with four other tenants. I'd pay $650.00 per month, everything included. The beautiful home sat on King Edward Avenue; a couple of kilometers East of "Pacific Spirit Regional Park" which was right next to the University of British Columbia. My cousin wasn't able to look at the place before hand, so I just banked on the integrity of the pictures displayed online (not a good time to start gambling).
My bags were completely packed two weeks ahead of time. Anxiety and fear married one another and force fed a level of peripheral chatter that got louder and louder as the date of departure fast approached. Faith that I would succeed was not strong. And then, swifter than expected, and without my permission, the day of the plunge arrived.
Dad brought me to the airport and made sure I found my way, which wasn't hard given that the Fredericton airport is smaller than a mouse nostril.
Dad and I embraced and said our goodbyes.
Tears fell down my old man's cheeks; goodbyes... they are never easy. He handed me a note just before we separated.
Goodbyes take bravery and one can never know when a goodbye is final. I thought about that after finding my seat in the boarding area of the terminal.
As I continued to sit, waiting for the intercom to announce our departure I thought about how fortunate I am that my parents show unconditional love towards me. All that I am, all the stress and pain they endured, intertwined with their genuine care for me. They continued to love me and I couldn't help but feel undeserving and selfish. I was a black hole of kindness, love and generosity.
The take off and ascent was smooth and uneventful, and as we rose above the clouds, I decided to open up the letter my Dad had given me. It read "your days will continue to be dark if you continue to allow alcohol to rule your life. I love you dearly and believe in you always". Tears welled up and my eyes glazed over, but I shoved them back down and sat in silence.
Once the plane landed at the Vancouver airport there was a bit of time to kill before my cousin Larry arrived to pick me up. Restlessness, I felt restless, a ball of energy with no place to go. Too many unknowns, overwhelmed, no home base for my tired body. Whatever was I to do? "There must be a bar in this place" I thought; yep, there was. I sat down and ordered a couple of brew, drank them slowly and watched a baseball game on the boob tube. My nerves calmed, excitement seeped out of the cracks and creeks of a medicated mind. Ahhh freedom.
After an hour or two Larry texted me to say that he had almost arrived. I paid my bill quickly and made my way out to the front of the airport. Didn't really want him knowing that the first thing I did upon arrival was to unleash the beast on a couple beer.
When we saw each other the two of us ignited with joy and enthusiasm. After exchanging niceties, we made our way to his work truck and he drove me over to my new basement abode. He was currently working a job and needed to get back to the work site as swiftly as possible.
I hadn't seen the man for a while and took a good look at him as we were rolling along. He had black hair with a bit of salt and pepper. His face was nicely shaven with a shadow of facial hair creeping up to the surface. A handsome guy, charismatic, with an infectious laugh. He said "you could fall flat on your face out here and we'd have your back". I always respected and admired Larry. He had a way about him that commanded respect.
Larry dropped me off at the apartment I'd be staying at on King Edward Avenue. He'd later tell me that his first impression of the place was that it was an absolute dump. He felt guilty for not looking at the place beforehand and almost asked me to come to his house in Chilliwack for the first month. If he did, I would have respectfully declined. I needed my own space to unwind.
When I entered the apartment, it was through two glass sliding doors. Immediately upon stepping foot in the residence I was in the middle of the living room and the kitchen. Both the living room and the Kitchen shared the same space. The floors were all carpeted in an odd egg type color.
Larry helped me load my things into the bedroom at the end of the hall; the room was rectangular shaped and pretty tiny. They provided me with a single bed, a closet to hang my clothes in and a laundry basket. There was also a small desk that stood to the immediate left of the doorway.
Larry left soon after we unloaded my things, he
said that he'd message me later on in the day to see how I was making out.
After saying goodbye to my cousin, I turned around and walked back to my bedroom where the smell of marijuana infested my booger caves. The smell billowed out of the bedroom right next to mine. I stood there outside of this random man's bedroom door and stared, wondering what kind of weirdo lay beyond. The door swung open, I contorted my body quickly to make it look like I was walking by casually, rather than lurking creepily outside it. A wall of weed blew into my face. "Oh hello" the man said. I blinked a few times and then said "hey man, what's up?". He asked me what I was doing and I said "where is the closest supermarket?". "Oh, you must be the new tenant" he said, "my names Osama". He had brown skin, puffy black hair and was moderately chubby. "Dear god" I thought to myself, "he" shaved his beard, acquired a marijuana addiction, while eating gross amounts of cookies and is now hiding out in Vancouver... how clever (a distasteful joke about Osama Bin Laden). I shook the hairy man's hand suspiciously; then snapped out of my daydreaming revelations and got "real". "Nice to meet you Osama!". He gave me directions to the closest "Safeway" (A grocery store chain out in Western Canada) and off I went in the wrong direction. I did eventually find my way, grabbed some groceries, speed walked back to the house and then was introduced to two of the other residents. Their names were Shimpe (I thought of shrimp) and Yoshi (I thought of MARIO) both were from Japan and were studying at the University of Bristish Columbia. Shimpe was shy and doing a PHD of some sort. He stared at me like I was a large strange looking June bug and refused to crack a smile. Yoshi seemed to be soft-hearted, he had a good sense of humor and seemed to embody some feminine character traits. Yoshi and I would become decent friends, while Shimpe was permanently locked in his room studying his figurative butt off. Don't worry, he still has a butt to this day.