Exit Stage Left

 “If you're being bombarded with information, the act of looking for patterns – not necessarily finding them – is what going to give you psychic refuge, a sense of sanctuary.” 
― Douglas Copeland


Decisions decisions…elusive decisions. I hate making them. S is no better at it, and if there were an international procrastination Olympics , we’d take gold in Fence-Sitting.  (And a silver in Retirement Planning. Possibly in Photo-Organizing as well. Hell, we’d OWN that Olympics. And now I want someone to plan one, just not me, because it wouldn’t take place until 2050.)

 If  every exit is an entrance somewhere else, as Tom Stoppard would have it, then an exit means a closed door behind me. Making an entrance elsewhere  and I might never get a chance to walk through any of those other doors I can see off down the corridor. I am much better at thinking about making decisions. I can spend many soothing hours weighing risks, making lists, MS Excel-ing my brainwaves into an alpha-state somnolence. Which is stupid, because not deciding anything is itself a paralysis, a fence. But stepping through that door? Uh uh. No thank you.  I'll just stand out here and ring the door bell, thanks. Maybe peek through the windows.

But every so often, doors open in front of you whether you will or no, and something pushes you through. First, circumstances led us to decide  to move back to western Canada . Having got that far, we needed to pick an actual destination.  No problem! Easy peasy lemon-squeezy! After all, there aren’t actually that many cities to choose from out west. Somewhere not too far from family, said S. There must be a Costco, said I. S wanted a  decent economy. I wanted decent restaurants and a French Immersion school. S insisted on a shorter commute and lower housing prices. You’re darn right, I agreed, because if it’s somewhere with a high cost of living and a long commute, I am staying put right here, where I'm happy.

So we made our checklists, perused the maps, and googled extensively. After many hours of debate and discussion, we stuck a pin in map and called it good came to a well-thought through and reasoned answer. In late August, we will arrive at our new home; a place where we can grow fruit in the summer and ski in the winter,  send the kids to école, and still get to Costco in about 15 minutes.

I just have to buy a Vietnamese cookbook and I’m all set.