I’m staring at the infamous boxes that finally finished the FexEx #fail gauntlet, and how my temporary dwellings look more like permanent dwellings. Stuff is everywhere, as if I’ve moved in for the long haul already. And I just got back from opening a Canadian bank account, bringing me one step closer to “being Canadian.”
A thought pervades: I’m terrified.
So, basically, I have no history in Canada. I have no identity in Canada. All the credit history I’ve built up in the US? Meaningless in Canada.
Let me repeat that.
I. Have. No. Identity. In. Canada.
That, is terrifying. Exhilarating, yet terrifying. I have no fall back position in Canada. I have no reference point. No support network. Nothing that says “hey, snap out of it. This is you, remember?”
My natural instinct is to become absorbed in work, let work define me, be my reference point. But, as I learned the hard way, work is not a given. Work is not a healthy, steady, concrete fall back position, definition or reference point. Work does not care. Work has no problem dropping and dismissing you. And that causes a huge blow to the ego, to one’s self.
Been there. Done that. I’ll take a pass on the repeat.
So without work as definition or reference point, I’m left with fear.
Fear is complicated emotion, I’m finding, and it has lots of variations. I’m terrified of losing my hard-fought American identity, and equally terrified of embracing and shaping my current non-existent Canadian identity. I’m terrified of going all in and equally terrified of being half in/half out. I’m terrified of not making friends and terrified I’ll make good friends. I’m terrified I’ll like #vancouver too much and terrified I won’t like it enough.
I’m terrified this whole gamble will be a success and terrified it’ll result in failure. I’m terrified I don’t know what I’m doing and terrified I do know what I’m doing.
A lot of this, I’m sure, has to do with “transitions.” That seemingly perpetual state of affairs. And there’s probably a fair amount of high expectations on my part. There are so many emotions to process, so many logistical things to figure out it seems like I’m flailing around, which only fans the flames of fear, if you will.
And, to be honest, I hate emotions. They’re messy. Alas, they are a component of being human, and ignoring them is of no help. So, right now, the best I can do is identify and acknowledge them. I’ve gone from “elation” to “relief” and now to “fear.” This move, this job, is no longer something off in the distance that may or may not happen.
It is now my reality.
So I’ll go to SMCYVR tonight, play some pickup basketball on Saturday and follow the course some part of me charted already: activities, not work, define me.