When I was 22 I took off on an open ended adventure with a friend I had known for many years. I had never been overseas but that is a story for another time.
This story begins when I was 23, living back in Melbourne after my big adventure. I was working full time as a receptionist at a large company and I was teaching dancing in the evenings, saving all my money with the goal to join the “love of my life” in Canada. See I had met a boy in Greece the year before. He was cute, fit and he liked me a lot. We then met up again in Venice for three magical days and a few months later I visited him in his home town in Canada. It is safe to say I was smitten. It felt like a romantic novel and I was the in the lead role. I felt interesting, special and invincible. I vowed to him I would return as we clung to each other in tears at the boarding gate. I thought it was not possible to feel that much for another person and I came home with a singular focus; to return to Canada as soon as humanly possible and continue this epic relationship.
I blame Diana Gabaldon. I had been reading the Outlander novels while I travelled and I had a book crush on Jamie Fraser so big it hurt. On that first night in a large, dodgy and very sweaty bar in Ios, I thought I had found my Jamie Fraser in the figure of a smart, quiet and well-built Canadian wearing a bum bag…or fanny pack as he called it. Not quite the Scottish kilt I had imagined but concessions were made.
Back in Melbourne I had the smug glow of the truly loved. I walked on air and I sang songs in my head like “Somebody Loves me, Oh yes he does”, and I gave sage advice to single friends about how they too would find their dream man someday. I was driven with work and I saved fervently. I applied for a Canadian work visa on the day their applications opened and the time finally came that I had saved enough money to buy my ticket to pursue my one great love. I quit my job and I called my Canadian dream man. It was an unusually awkward and stinted phone conversation. Anyone who called internationally back in the 90’s knows there was always an awkward delay but this was more than just a connection issue.
“I’ve met someone else”.
There it was. The words drifted over me like a fog and I had to
say the somewhat clichéd “what?”
I suddenly felt cold all over and I started shaking. I told him I had bought my plane tickets, I had quit my job and my family and friends had thrown me a farewell party. I was due to fly out in less than 7 days. My whole world was rocked. I had so many questions! Who was this woman? Just a friend. How long had it been going on? Not long, a few weeks. When was he planning to tell me? He just did. I was a mess. I was crying silently and tears dripped off my chin onto my bed. I had bitten all of my nails off and they were bleeding. What on earth had I done? I had spent the better part of a year sacrificing any kind of social life and fun in my quest to get on that plane and start my new life on the other side of the world. I had believed in this so fervently that it had never occurred to me that he didn’t feel the same. Rocked.
So what do I do now? Going there would be humiliating, not to mention I only knew his family who had kindly offered to still let me stay there. Staying in Melbourne seemed oppressive and crushingly anticlimactic after the dreams and plans I had made. I slept on it and in the morning I booked myself a 13 day camping tour of the Rockies, due to start a couple of days after my arrival into Vancouver. I told only a few people that my relationship had ended and I boarded that plane with the fervent hope that when he laid eyes on me he would forget this new love and we would spend the night in each others arms, crying and telling stories about our shared future. Seemed plausible at the time.
Stay tuned for Part 2
