Wednesday April 30, 2008

16:07 via phone

Watching a Zamboni do its thing around the ice is strangely relaxing.  I used to take lessons on Sundays when I was a kid, on this very same rink.  Well, actually, it’s not really the same one, since it used to be about 300M that way, and pointed that other way, but hey, it’s in the same shopping center… that doesn’t really look the same, either.  Not much around here does, my family included.

I’ve always held to the belief that where you come from has a huge hand in shaping who you are, and that it’s important to never forget where that is.  I still believe that, but I wonder now if I’m letting the past keep me from seeing the future, and from living the present.  Every time I come “home,” I make the rounds to a few familiar haunts, and end up feeling a pang of, something.  Regret?  Nostalgia?  Yearning for the “normal” childhood I never had?  I dunno.  This time, I don’t really feel anything outside a dose of familiarity, and the ubiquitous sense of being a foreigner.

The latter has always bothered me, leaving me feeling like a stranger in a strange land, even though I was born and raised (well, half raised) here.  Yet maybe this irksome nagging in the back of my head is a sign that it’s time to embrace it and work the angles; to play it to my advantage.  Maybe it’s time to sever the umbilical cord to the comforting past and move.  Sideways? Forward?  Somewhere.  Just don’t stay static.

Hmm.  The gate has just opened and they’ve let the little monkeys back on the ice.  Time to go.


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