This is the other “mill town” I lived in – Cornwall, Ontario. I had quite a time here: I worked for the Federal Government on Water Street and dreamed of living abroad in Asia. My entertainment after work consisted of going to the Coles Bookstore in the town mall and flipping through travel books. But I did live with a wonderful family, who became my family, and I made wonderful friends. My heart was oriented to the wider world, however, and I had a lot of difficulty being here and being with myself at times. I wrote this poem to articulate what I was going through:

I’m Far Away on an Island

I’m far away on an island, dreaming of the ocean

That great wide open

Dissolving the boundaries of my uncharted world.

I yearn to fly

And dive, deep and forever, into that vast unknown.

Unencumbered and hopeful,

I would pass beyond myself and all I ever knew.

Maybe one day I’ll grow wings

And fly away.

Perhaps I’ll build them

Or someone will come find me.

Still, for now I remain

Far away on an island

Dreaming of the future.

 

I really struggled at this time. I felt I was “destined” for bigger things, but looking back I think that was a harsh way to be with myself. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming big and wanting to get out there in the world, but the “destined for bigger things” feeling took on the flavour of self-hate – that I should have been more, done more, that I had “strayed” from my “path”, whatever that was. And I had just come out of undergrad, where I had received almost daily antidotes for my crippling self-hate and judgment in the form of grades and accolades. I no longer had that in Cornwall: it was like the blanket had been pulled off, and there I was, a sullen girl with a hateful heart and no antidote. I should have been more. I should have done more. I was a failure. Those were the messages I sent myself, and so of course I felt trapped on an island, felt like the world was passing me by, and was wishing, begging that someone or something would save me from these intolerable feelings by accepting me and assuring me that I was great and worthy.

(I’ve fallen into this trap more times than I care to remember.)

Now, I did leave Cornwall after about 10 months and moved to China. In some ways I was running from feelings that nonetheless followed me halfway around the world, but in other ways I was doing what I had dreamed of doing, and it was grand. Our desires and actions are always a confusing mix of genuine, spontaneous movements of joy that come from the seat of our consciousness and frenzied needs that stem from the most damaged, frightened parts of ourselves. It’s always hard to tease apart. But my time in Asia, which is deserving of a number of separate posts, was legendary. It has a storied, reverent place in my soul that I occasionally visit (OK I often visit) to pay homage to. It’s a secret box that I take out and relish over, those experiences, those times of unrestrained lives and spontaneous movement. There was nothing like my time in Asia. And for those of you on the fence about whether or not to embark on a great journey, whatever tangled desires you might be feeling, I urge you to to move yourself: be out there in the world. Here’s another short (untitled) poem on that last sentiment:

Don’t be afraid

Of what’s past,

Of meaning that may or may not be there,

That may have changed along the way:

Get out into that world, intensely.