Following birds, and wandering stars…(Victoria 05/29/2011)

Victoria, BC

~Follow the birds and find an island that’s kissed by the sun ~

It’s a strange sensation, looking at the town that raised you and suddenly realizing that in some, very real ways, you’re viewing it from the outside.

Part of the downside of my job is that it separates me from things. From the life I used to have before I “ran away to join the circus”, I follow a wandering star now. There’s a reason these pages are called what they are.

For the most part though, I’ve slipped almost comfortably – albeit temporarily – into my old life.

Almost.

When your life is so surreal that you can say you’ve seen Turkey twice in one year, when you’ve circumnavigated the globe twice before your 30th birthday, the oddest things become important to you. Those seemingly mundane slices of precious normality – your bartender rushing out from behind the bar to sweep you up in a bear hug and putting your drink in front of you without having to ask what you want, your best friend offering you tea, the feel of your own sheets, the guy behind the counter at the video store remembering your name – become so sharp that they almost seem to hurt…

Being home always feels strange, but this time I have so much more time than normal that it feels stranger still. I’m so much a different person after the world cruise contract, that there are times that it feels like my home town really doesn’t recognize me anymore. Sometimes, I don’t recognize it either. Friendships don’t sit as easily (except for a very select few), and as I scroll down my list of contacts that remain in my cell phone, I realize how few are there to begin with (most have been deleted over the years for various reasons) and of the few that are left, how few I have the urge to call. These days, the numbers that are really important to me – again save for a very select few – are long distance.

The streets that have always been familiar seem now strangely distant, as if I’m walking them from a different perspective, I forget the bus-routes, I forget the street names, everything is just slightly…skewed. The more times I come back, the more I feel like I’m visiting…

The interesting thing is, that changed vision, that slightly skewed perspective, has re-opened my eyes in a lot of ways, and made me realize just how beautiful my hometown is. In my travels I’ve seen a lot of “down-towns”, with a few exceptions all cities are the same, they’re big and impersonal and various shades of grey, both in the buildings and the people.

But Victoria…isn’t like that.

Victoria looks like a postcard and sounds like a gull’s cry. The roads don’t run on the concept of a straight grid, but were laid down decades ago by cattle drivers and deer. There’s a sidewalk artist who pastel’s perfect scale replicas of Rembrandt onto our cobblestones and often asks for nothing more than a smile in exchange for a work of art. The clip clop of horse hoofs and the creak of carriage wheels mingle with the sound of bus horns and street performers, but there are no hawkers, nobody gets in your face, no one really harasses you.

Truly, I live in one of the most beautiful ports on earth. And considering the percentage of the world I’ve seen, and some of the places I have to compare it to, that’s saying something.

Home may feel strange, and often my reactions to it may frighten me these days, but I will always gladly tie my kite-string to the spire of the Empress Hotel..

Bright Blessings,

Shaughnessy