February 2–24, 2003 — Let’s dance while we still can

There have always been times when I’ve wanted to escape the life I’m living in Toronto. For the last month or two, I’ve thought about it a lot; I’ve had moments when, had rent been due that day, I was ready to give notice to my landlord and put my belongings in storage until I figure out what I want to do and where I want to go. But the most important thing was to leave.

I’ve been asked what I’m running from. If I were honest, I would say my mistakes, and I would admit that I have deluded myself into thinking that I wouldn’t make any more of them (or that I would make smaller ones) if I lived further away from the ones I’ve already made.

Early in February, though, I stopped being so desperate to escape. I’ve been talking to people that I haven’t really talked to in a long time, not about anything important (or at all, in some cases), and I feel like I have a bit less to run from and a reason or two more to stay.

My reasons for leaving have always been ill-conceived, based around a theory that I will be more productive in isolation, without reminders of the things I’ve done wrong. But I know that it won’t be that way, and I’ve always known as much. I live in near-isolation as it is, spending days in front of my computer trying to decide what to do with the next hour. My life on the other side of the country would be very similar to my life here. Lacking the more obvious triggers for unpleasant memories — places we went together, places we talked about going — I would still obsess over obscure anniversaries, old letters, the smile of the girl in Winnipeg who reminds me of someone I’d rather not think about...

So if the first step is to acknowledge that it’s me who has a problem, not the city I live in, I think I’ve reached that point. And if the second step is to find reasons to stay, I shouldn’t have much trouble; I’ve always had reasons to stay, but I’d managed to convince myself that there were more reasons to leave. All of which was very melodramatic of me, a temper tantrum without the thrashing about, something to make me feel like I was willing to instigate change.

After all that, though, I think I needed to believe I was leaving to realize that I would be better off if I stayed.

We’ll see where things stand by the end of the summer.

Today I spent a few hours using a utility knife to cut through a canvas belt so that I could add studs to it. Then I went to a show and helped convince a band to play “Out of Step” by Minor Threat — twice.

If nothing else, Toronto gives me the chance to live the punk-rock lifestyle I missed out on in high school when I was busy going to raves and listening to the most depressing music I could find. All I’m missing is an ill-advised straight edge tattoo; once I have that, I can pretend I’ve been punk all along. The challenge will be convincing my friends that I got the tattoo when I was 17 and that they never noticed it.

...though this might be a lot easier to do on the other side of the country with friends who didn’t know me when I was 17, now that I think about it.