The PNW and Me
Every time I see videos and reels of forests covered in moss, I’m constantly reminded of my time in British Columbia. That’s exactly what happened tonight that brought upon my burst of nostalgia mixed with sadness with a glimmer of hope. Those memories also reminded of a time where I was truly myself. In some ways, the best version of myself.
To be fair, I don’t think I saw myself in that light back then. It only takes a little bit of growing up just to realize in some ways just how magical you were. And even when you do realize it, in some ways it’s too late to return to who you were. Now it’s just a matter of embracing who you are now.
I really thought Canada was the most magical place I visited. I was just a 27 year old exploring the world for the first time. I was born and raised in Chicago and never really left home for much at all. All I knew was the city life. Skyscrapers, the hustle and bustle, the L, downtown, Lake Michigan strolls, the constant sounds of sirens, ambulances, and the desire for something more than just my hometown.
The first time I saw mountains with my own eyes, I actually cried. I made it a mission after getting out of an abusive relationship with a narcissist who tried to control me to actually break free and be myself. I had the courage to do exactly that. I told myself I would go to Canada and climb a mountain. I was tired of feeling so held back that I decided to do the Grouse Grind.
That mountain climb started my love for mountains, rivers, the forest, and nature truly. I always loved seeing them in photos and through documentaries but nothing compared to the actual feeling of being there in person. The feeling I had feeling so small in a world so big was humbling. It felt like being cradled in Earth’s arms herself, just giving me comfort that everything was okay, and everything would be okay.
I haven’t felt that in a while.
Maybe that’s why nostalgia hurts so much, because you’re mourning that feeling that died somewhere along the lines of growing up and not living in the moment.
I conquered so much of my mind, and now, when I call myself a “disabled creator”, it feels surreal. I wasn’t always like this. I didn’t always need as much help as I do now to function outside of work.
I used to be able to do so much, but ADHD really has a way of catching up in late adulthood, especially when you’ve gone your entire life undiagnosed. I don’t remember much of who I was before my disabilities caught up to me but I do remember the happiness and joy that radiated in everything I did. I spent my entire life running away from it all and masking just so I could fit in.
The PNW was never a “home” with family. I wasn’t raised there. I didn’t even really have family or friends out there. I knew someone who lived there and visited frequently. I even met one of my soul sisters Nina there on one of my trips. Once my friendship with the other person ended, the PNW ended. That person didn’t break my heart like I thought they would, but leaving Canada absolutely destroyed me.
It’s crazy how that place felt more home to me than the person who even led me there and encouraged me to climb Grouse Mountain! Though, really, it was the most homey I’ve ever felt in my entire life. And yes, that’s even after making a family, moving to a state with Mountains (Colorado), marrying my best friend and love of my life, and having the best animal babies I could ever ask for.
I’m a homeowner now and while my house feels like home, it feels like a place that is comforting. There is security, comfort, and stability. All the things I craved my entire life.
That home in the PNW wasn’t a place at all. There were so many places, but more than that, it was a feeling.
It was sadness that healed.
It was happiness that grew into strength.
It was courage to live my authentic life.
It was a bird that brought joy to everyone it saw with it’s beautiful colors.
It was innocence.
It was living out of your inner child and feeling seen.
However, when it comes to places:
It was that spot in the river in Chilliwack by Vedder Mountain Road.
It was the hike to the top of Teapot Hill being out of shape.
It was Cultus Lake.
It was driving down Highway 1 listening to Lamb of God and randomly switching to Schoolboy Q.
It was Harrison Hot Springs.
It was the Hope Waterfall.
It was Mike’s Steakhouse having mash potatoes and shots with my best friend.
It was the Japanese restaurant with the plum wine.
It was where freedom met peace, and I actually got to breathe. My brain wasn’t going crazy for once. Time stopped, and I was able to sit in nature and not feel rushed. I wasn’t caught up in work or life. I didn’t have that much responsibility back then. All I had was being free and being authentically me without a mask.
Those experiences, it allowed me to be fun, free spirited, graceful, and at times uncomfortable but it was absolutely magical in all it’s seasons.
While I am grateful that I discovered this “home”, the place where my soul felt free and happy, I only started to feel resentment wishing I never felt such peace or happiness, because I knew I’d struggle to find it again. Though in all actuality, I’m grateful that it happened because it brought me to where I am in my present day, actually leaving Chicago, growing up, getting married and being in a state with Mountains (despite it not being in the PNW).
The resentment from nostalgia is real though but truthfully it is more towards myself because of how much I have changed because life changed me. Wishing I could be HER while having all of my dreams come true all after that.
Did I lie and create these amazing memories of myself and the time I had there? Was it me who made this place feel like home, or was it Canada? Maybe both?
Now I sit and ask myself these questions:
Am I ungrateful for wishing to go back to that feeling even though I am happy, married, and have everything I actually dreamed of? Is it wrong to long for just a small bit of peace in the years that have almost destroyed me?
Why can’t I find that peace here?
There’s mountains, but it’s absolutely not the same. . .
But,
I’m not the same
And that is the biggest lost I’ve suffered and mourned for years.
My life is so different now than it was 7 years ago. It really doesn’t even feel like much has changed. The pandemic made my disabilities worse. My anxiety crippled me. My depression ate me alive. I haven’t been the same since Covid, and almost losing myself and my husband to that illness. These memories I long for are all pre-covid — a time before things ended up changing for the best but also the worst in so many different ways.
A part of me wonders if my nostalgia is really towards Canada, or towards that part of myself, that part of my soul that I left behind there.
Just look at me.
This is a photo of me and my soul brother Mike. Also known as primo blanco, the pumpkin spice king.
In a sea of all that’s unholy and chaotic, I had a friend who was more family than most people I knew by blood. A soul who I recognized from lifetimes before, a brother in arms who always stood by my side when I needed him the most.
He was there on my last adventure to Canada, to say goodbye to the place that felt like home. I shared a part of that home with him, and in ways, that trip revitalized us both.
During that time, he just barely met his girlfriend and I reconnected with my best friend (now husband). Canada left us coming home with a gift, our future partners.
We got to go back “home” to them and many years later, actually make our homes with them.
And while I’m so grateful for all the gifts the universe gave me, why didn’t it make me stop longing for the beauty of the pacific northwest? Why do I stop myself from time to time to look at all the photos and memories from that part of my life?
Why can’t I just let go and actually be free in this moment?
I guess sometimes the hardest part of life is admitting that change is the only real constant. Trying to hold onto Canada in a time loop has only made me realize I’ve held onto it so long because it has all the best memories of ME.
It’s just me mourning myself because I don’t feel as carefree, as happy, as joyful as I once did.
I feel burdened by life. By responsibilities. By bills. By feeling judged for being disabled. By feeling like a burden to others for my disabilities. By feeling trapped in my own body. By wanting to do more but suffering from mental paralysis. By making so many wrong financial choices that I’m paying the price for now.
And the saddest part about it all is I got everything I wished for.
That’s the thing about disabilities that the world will never understand. You can be so happy and have it all, but your brain does not function like other brains. You want to be better but always make the smallest mistakes that upset the people closest to you. And you just keep praying that one day you’ll feel normal.
And truthfully, if I felt a little less judgment, I’d probably be okay. I’d probably cope better. I’d come to terms that I was born this way and I masked just to get through life as much as I could. I let other people’s judgments get the best of me and in turn I shut myself down.
If I didn’t feel like I burdened everyone I knew, I’d be okay.
That’s what I tell myself.
But those feelings make me feel like I’m not worth it. It makes my depression worse. Because I want to just “get over it” but sometimes I can’t.
I’d actually feel like I can exist safely again, freely, with that peace.
I don’t do the same things I did anymore because of how shut down I’ve become. I guess Canada is a reminder that even when the world shuts me down, I don’t have to stay this way.
Because when I look at these photos, I’m reminded of a time where I wasn’t shut down. I was disabled but I didn’t let the judgment of others bother me.
I was a colorful bird making people smile where I went because I was me.
And while I’ll always yearn for the PNW, I’ll most always long for myself just that much more.
