Goodness, this is long. But it's a reflective thing, so more for me than for you. So consider this a journal entry that I'm letting you read, haha! Understand, and please enjoy.
A lamp has a power cord. To move the lamp, you must unplug the power cord, relocate the lamp, and plug the power cord into another outlet. Simply unplug, move, plug. Quite simple. The lamp is still a lamp, but it's in a new place. Now, different things are happening all around the lamp, but it's still doing its job, while all it sees and hears is new and changed.
I lived in Canada for three years; 2 and a half years in a small foothills town in Alberta and half a year in the city of Vancouver. Those were very different environments - in two different provinces, even. One of them showed me a deer every day, beautiful stars, dangerous storms, and a slow, quiet life. The other presented a fast-paced, people-filled society boasting convenience and low prices within a lock-your-doors atmosphere. Though they were both truly beautiful, they were quite different. In fact, every Canadian was different; some wore cowboy hats and donned mustaches, and some owned bakeries while others made millions for the oil industry. And they all were different from me.
Less than three weeks ago I was unplugged, relocated, and plugged in again; a lamp moved not just across the room, but into another house! Yes, I am still James, but I'm in a totally different place. Different things are happening all around me. All the faces are different. The voices are different. The colors, smells, sky, and air moisture are all different. Even I am changed! Yes, I've lived here before, but I'm older. At this point in my young life, it amounts to being much older. And for some reason, that means a lot to me.
I know my surroundings are different and can't possibly satisfy my urge to recognize my experiences. There is no way to tell all the stories of who and what my light was cast upon, and no one would want to hear all of them anyway! And that's okay. That's normal! To expect more would be unfair.
Now if I understand the struggle of moving and the confusion of all things changed, why do I shudder at times? Why do I ignore feelings until they ambush me with storm clouds? Why do I desperately wish for someone with which to open up, while I fear the idea of opening up at all? I want a friend but push them away. It was never like this before... Good Lord, why?
Grief. I lost something very precious to me. I lost a community, a job, a bedroom, a level of comfort, a style of humor, a list of inside jokes, a system of meals, and a group of fine people who called me friend; who loved me more than I realized till those last few days. All of that gone, and I'm left here in American with jokes about "snow" and "eh" and "a-boot." Good gravy! It was so much more than that.
I became a man there, and I returned to be told that I need to put shoes on before I leave the house! I know! For Pete's sake, I know.
So here I am - new and fresh but scared, experienced but nervous, a man now a man, deathly afraid of being treated like a boy. But I am James, and I am loved, and there are some things that never change.
