After all that has happened, I sound foolish when I say that
I was flabbergasted when the movers gave Travis and I only three hours of notice
to meet our things and have them cleared at the US/Canada border. It was a
Friday afternoon, the day of a huge rain storm and we were needed at the border
smack dab in the middle of western Canada’s weekend pilgrimage to Seattle. I just
couldn’t believe it.
It had been 27 days since our stuff had been picked up from
Florida and seven months since it had been picked up from New York; traveling
to the Bahamas, Miami, Daytona, Washington, and now finally Canada. People say
that “moving”, along with “divorce” & “death of a loved one”, is one of the
most stressful things human beings (never-the-less Bob!) face, and we had been moving
for over eight months. After scrambling to leave work midday, Trav drove us
back to the border where we had crossed into Canada six weeks prior. As we
drove through endless sheets of rain and brake lights, I cursed for over 2
hours.
I was so tired of feeling helpless. I couldn’t believe that for
the last 45 days we had been at the complete mercy of our moving company as
they struggled to get our things into Canada. We were still living in the hotel
as we still didn’t have a
delivery date. Each day that passed, we grew more and more anxious to move into our new apartment that had now
been sitting vacant for over a month. How was this still happening!? We were freakin’ IN Canada, what more
were we supposed to do!? Wasn’t this never-ending journey down the rabbit-hole ever going to end??!
I composed myself as we pulled into the visitor’s parking
lot on the Canadian side of the border. I’m currently addicted
to a Canadian reality show that details how fiercely Canada protects its
borders (going through cell phones and laptops) and as a result, I genuinely fear
them. We weren’t sure how well received it would be that this was the third International
port our things had been through since last being in our possession. We also
didn’t even remember what was in these boxes, (or what’s left in these boxes), after the eight month journey. Surprisingly, very
few questions were asked. We met our driver, cleared our things by showing our
work permits, and made a plan to meet the driver at our apartment building at
9am the next morning.
It was dark and still pouring as Trav drove back to the
hotel four hours later, but there was now light at the end of the tunnel.
The next morning, our bed, a couple of televisions, and lots
of small boxes were unloaded into our
new Vancouver apartment. Everything looked like it had been through a war- hadn’t
it?
We tallied up all of the damaged items, some replaceable,
some not; and felt overwhelmingly thankful that this nightmare had finally ended.
We had been dreaming about our first night in our own bed since leaving New
York.
It took us surprisingly two trips to move out of our hotel room.
Living in a hotel, a haunted hotel, for over 40 days had been an experience
that Trav, Bob and I would never forget.
They took great care of us, and of course the feather bedding and frequent
room service was wonderful. After a while, though, one can only take so much of
the neighbors changing as much as the bed sheets.
Our first day in our new home, in a foreign country, was a
Saturday filled with waves of emotion. It was impossible not to feel sheer gratitude
for the majestic beauty of Vancouver that could be seen all around us from the
beautiful apartment. As I unpacked each box while watching boats float by on
the creek below, my heart sank. Beach chairs, umbrellas, and coolers of every shape
and size. New tank tops and sleeveless dresses with the tags still attached. As
I pulled out all 15 bikinis that I had previously packed for life in the
Bahamas, I remembered the vision I had when I packed these boxes, of what the sunny
future held for Trav and I. Now, over 3,000 miles in the opposite direction, in
sweat pants and a hoodie, I couldn’t help but reflect on the insane journey
that had instead re-routed us to Vancouver Canada.
As painful as it was to place endless beach gear into the
guest room closet, it was also possibly the most enlightening and cathartic moment
of this entire wacky experience. I couldn’t help but laugh as I saw myself,
with 20/20 hindsight, as I tried to control every step of this life-changing
experience, even up until the delivery of our former lives to Vancouver- which obviously
showed up whenever it wanted anyway. I laughed because every single one of my
efforts proved fruitless, although I managed to cause myself so much strife trying
to regain some type of control. Looking back, our only peace came with absolute surrender. Maybe it was pulling
bikini bottoms out of a box marked “boat” while breathing the fresh mountain
air that finally made me realize that I was simply no match for destiny. All
along, and unbeknownst to us, there was an insanely rich plot to get us to
Vancouver, Canada. A plan so solid that using “paradise” as bait would simply redefine
the word itself.
Who would ever want a journey like that to end? I started
this blog with a stomach-churning road trip to Hana and since then, have had an
unexpected life-changing road trip to Vancouver. Behind every curve has been a
new and exciting adventure, refreshingly more spectacular than the last. Each
giant hill and blind-faith bridge has led us here…for now. This colossal
detour has led us to a place we never would have found otherwise. A map was clearly drawn to a better place.
Welcome Home. Welcome to Vancouver…
Stay tuned...
