anthimeria

It’s fitting, I think, that I sit here, beginning my twenty-third year, a book in my lap, warm teacup in my palm, listening to the steady drone of raindrops on my window and traffic in the street. I hope this kind of quiet contentment will characterize these next 365 days.

22 was a year of movement. Finishing school, leaving Kingston, moving to Toronto …  a new job (and then another), new people. Movement.

And it’s been wonderful, truly, even with inevitable bits of sadness that creep in from time-to-time. 

Toronto – I didn’t want to love you. But boy, have I fallen. I’ve been here a scant 10 months and you’re my home. From my inordinate love of the CN Tower in the city skyline (“You’re such a tourist!” my sister chides) to this charming Cabbagetown neighourhood that’s become my home, to the streetcars and markets … to every other cliche. You pulled me, ever-so-slightly, out from my introverted shell. You have me.

With Toronto came my sister, Eleni, and after four years in Kingston, having family so close again is something special. Indeed, that I’ll raise a glass to twenty-three years tonight with this woman makes me proud. Eleni and I have a quixotic relationship that’s been reaffirmed through our year together under one roof; she’s the only person whom I can adore and detest in consecutive breaths. Our sisterly-love is unique. And I know she feels the same.

Distance has brought me closer to some of my oldest friends, even if my telephone habits are awful at best; and made me new ones, particularly Mere, whom I’ve known for a while – virtually – but who has been amazing to come to know as a real-world friend.

With a new city came a new job came a group of extraordinary coworkers – and for those who malign civil servants as lazy or complacent – I give you this bunch of amazing people (and that’s just a smattering). The folks I work with each day make me excited for my job, and confident I was right to put off graduate school. I’m thankful for people who believe in my ability and mind; who have trusted an unripe young’n with exciting and meaningful work. 

It’s difficult to recollect – from this warm armchair looking out at the rainy urban streetscape, one year ago. I was immersed in political theory (David Miller was my favourite theorist, not the tweeting mayor of my city) and writing papers. I lived on charming Princess St., worked at my beloved library, and counselled first-year students that medical schools would accept them even with that 82% blemish (:P) on their transcripts. Sunday mornings were filled with the little Kingston market and vendors who I knew so well, a pain-au-chocolat from Pan Chancho and walk along the waterfront.  I’ll establish these rituals in Toronto, but know it takes time.

I want to spend the next twelve months making a home, settling in, quieting the warp-speed of twenty-two. I’m excited to dive into my new job. I want to board the train to Windsor more weekends. I want to take a leisurely couple weeks on my own (my favourite way to travel), to Istanbul or Marrakech or Sevilla. (Or maybe even hop on that plane to Paris.)

Another year older, I read this Max Ehrmann, as I do on each birthday. I anticipate that I will find his words tired or trite, but still they stir me: “With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.” Indeed. The world is beautiful, my eyes seek wonder, I want to fill my days with loveliness and quiet and gratitude.

To primes, to odds, to the possibility of twenty-three.